


None Goes His Way Alone

by kcscribbler



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24442321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcscribbler/pseuds/kcscribbler
Summary: Merlin has always thought that the sorcerer chooses the familiar; his new familiar begs to differ. Canon-compliant not-quite-fix-it fic for S5 finale.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 93





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own Merlin, or we would actually have had the payoff we deserved in Season 5. 
> 
> A/N: This is loosely categorized as a fix-it, of sorts, for the S5 finale, though technically it fits into existing canon as it diverges directly from Diamond of the Day. Despite the solemn tone of the series ending, this is actually a lighthearted fic, as it came from a place of catharsis while I was personally trying to come to terms with a show ending that, even years later, just hurts like hell. 
> 
> Title comes from one of my favorite poems about fate and immortality: A Creed, by Edwin Markham.
> 
> There is a destiny that makes us brothers:  
> None goes his way alone:  
> All that we send into the lives of others  
> Comes back into our own.  
> I care not what his temples or his creeds,  
> One thing holds firm and fast  
> That into his fateful heap of days and deeds  
> The soul of man Is cast.

**Title** : None Goes His Way Alone  
 **Rating:** K+  
 **Final Word Count** : 29K  
 **Warnings** : Spoilers for entire TV canon **including S5 finale** , bits and pieces of legend. (Archimedes belonged to Arthurian legend long before Disney's _The Sword in the Stone_ ). I have been a member of the Merlin fandom for years, but this fic was written several years ago and it's been a bit since I've seen the show, so if something is incorrect please feel free to point it out.   
**Genre** : Humor, fluff, technically canon-era AU, semi-fix-it fic, animal fic  
 **Summary** : _Merlin has always thought that the sorcerer chooses the familiar; his new familiar begs to differ._  
  


* * *

**Chapter One**

Queen Guinevere, her subjects and those unwise enough to doubt her soon found, was a force to be reckoned with. There were those, who contested her ability to rule as skillfully her husband had in his too-short reign, but those doubts were soon dispelled by her expert diplomacy, borne from compassion and years of interacting with both commonfolk and nobility.

Within three months, Albion had rallied around a grieving Camelot, and with the aid of close allies as the Queens Annis and Mithian, the five kingdoms united around the bereaved Queen and her loyal people. From peasant to merchant to noble to Druid, all bowed before the memory of King Arthur Pendragon, and the kingdom he had worked to build for nearly a decade. The transition into a land where magic was no longer persecuted, then freed, was met with less opposition than expected, due to every Camelotian knight knowing that King Arthur's mysterious guardian sorcerer had turned the tide at Camlann and dispatched the Witch herself. The tales told around cozy hearths of nights grew and multiplied, for it is human nature to share grief through the aged art of storytelling, until every child in all of Albion knew of the mysterious, now vanished Emrys and his steadfast loyalty to the fallen King. Those who did not ally openly with Camelot at least were not so foolish as to oppose them, even in such a time of upheaval; for only a fool gambles against such uncertain odds.

And through all of this, Merlin watched from the shadows of his self-imposed exile, heart bleeding for his dreams as they fell into place with an ease that was nothing short of poetic mockery. This, the kingdom he had worked so hard to build, now neatly coming to pass without assistance from him, without the king intended to rule over its Golden Age? The irony was a cruel one, indeed.

But as Time passed with its inexorable kindness, the bleeding wound left by Arthur's death slowly staunched, and when the ban on magic was lifted thirteen weeks after Queen Guinevere's formal assumption of the monarchy, the kingdom rejoiced. From the furthest reaches of Camelot's borders to its inner city walls, the old and young alike gladly formed a procession which took three days to complete, as each magic-user, from the smallest child to the eldest Druid, knelt before the throne and swore allegiance to Camelot and her Queen.

And if the Queen shed silent tears as the very last man dropped to his knees in front of the empty throne to her right instead of hers, well. The tales told of the High Queen of Camelot embracing a sorcerer and a servant in front of the entire gathered council only fueled the fires of joy which burned through the kingdom that night.

No one noticed a tiny tawny owl perched comfortably on the mysterious man's shoulder, calmly regarding the proceedings with satisfaction.

* * *

"Why did you hide from us – from me? It has been _three months_ , Merlin."

The blunt question made him wince, tinged as it was with no reproach, only hurt. His eyes fell to the table, shame burning his ears.

"Merlin, I only wish to know," the Queen said softly, placing a gentle hand on his arm. Warm eyes, full of shared compassion over shared grief, slowly drained the tension which still kept him arrow-straight and uneasy in his chair.

Finally he relaxed slightly, head thumping dully against the wood of the seat-back.

"I…I wasn't ready," he finally murmured. "To face any of you, but especially you, Gwen."

The Queen's eyes darkened with pain, and she removed her hand with a grimace.

"After what I became under Morgana's control, how could I blame you for that, Merlin," she said bitterly.

He glanced up, incredulous. "That's got nothing to do with it," he protested, truly mystified. As the Queen began to protest, he held up a hand to cut off her arguments.

"Gwen, I know better than anyone else how impossible it is to resist an enchantment of that scale," he continued pointedly. "It wasn't that, I promise."

Sighing, he closed his eyes for a moment, gathered his courage for a conversation he'd been dreading ever since he had made the decision to return to Camelot from his self-imposed exile. Finally he drew a long, deep breath, and reached for the nearest goblet of liquid fortification. It was time to properly face the memories he had been trying his hardest to avoid for so many weeks.

"What then? Merlin, you can tell me," Gwen entreated, and he sensed the mental transition from monarch to old friend. "Were you afraid I would blame you for being born with magic – or for not saving Arthur?"

The goblet fell with a clang to the table, wine sloshing over the side, and he immediately scrambled from his chair to snatch the nearest serving-towels, an instinct still ingrained even after so long.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, stopping the flow before it reached the silken skirts of the Queen – apology also an ingrained instinct by now. "I'm really sorry –"

"Oh, Merlin." A single word, uttered with so much affection it stopped him in his tracks. Gwen rose from the table, gracefully avoiding the puddle on the floor, and bent to his eye level. "You are not my servant, Merlin, and you never have been," she said quietly, and he let her pull the soaked towel from his shaking hands. "That honor belonged to one man, and I will not have you tarnishing that memory. Come with me."

"Yes, my Lady," he whispered, and followed her from the room. He barely registered the guards' looks of polite disinterest when the Queen took the hand of a known sorcerer.

* * *

"I would never have blamed you, Merlin."

He quirked a lopsided grin and glanced sideways at the teary-eyed Queen, for after thirty minutes of relating the events following the battle of Camlann even his weary soul felt the need for respite. On his shoulder, a sleepy Archimedes protested the movement with a disgruntled meep, before settling back down in a ball of irritatedly-fluffed feathers.

"Kind words from the woman who threw me in the dungeons for poisoning the King."

Rather than smiling back at his well-intentioned jest, however, Gwen's beautiful skin darkened further in embarrassment, and for a moment they both stared in painful awkwardness out over the castle courtyard in silence, only the stars and distant town fires for company.

"Did Arthur have no one he loved, who did not betray him in some way?" she finally asked, eyes fastened on the empty courtyard below.

It was not an accusation, and Merlin did not take it as such; for they both had been victims of circumstance, both had begged forgiveness for their betrayals and received it from a noble King, both had wholeheartedly loved Arthur Pendragon with every fibre of their souls. They were neither of them from the same ilk as Morgana, Agravaine…no.

Arthur had known that; for he was a noble man, and a noble friend and husband.

"I did everything I could, Gwen, I promise you that," Merlin suddenly broke the silence, desperation fueling the rapid words that fell to punctuate the end of his interrupted story. "If there had been any alternative – if I'd been able to summon the Cup of Life, if there had been a powerful enough spell, if I had been able to take his place, _anything_ –"

"Merlin." A slim hand reached over and hesitantly patted his knee. The tawny owl cracked one eye, regarded her suspiciously, but then settled back with a chirrup of approval. "I _know_. I know now, what you have done for Arthur; and I know what you _would_ have done had there been a chance. I would never dream of blaming you. So please, Merlin," Gwen added softly, giving his knee a squeeze, "please stop blaming yourself?"

Merlin shook his head. “That is not so easy a task. You don’t understand, Gwen –”

“Perhaps I don’t,” and the interruption was gentle, but firm. “But promise me you will try?”

“I will.”

They both rose as one, and walked the battlements in silence, only nodding to the occasional guard who pretended not to see them. After a few moments, Archimedes shook himself awake and dived off the side of the battlements with a war-cry, obviously going after a mouse or rabbit below. Merlin watched him go with a slight smile, letting out a weary sigh that drew the Queen's attention once more.

"What will you do now?" Gwen asked after a few moments of quiet.

"That is why I stayed away," he whispered painfully. "I didn't know, and I still don't. Arthur was everything, Gwen. I lived to protect him and his Kingdom – and now? Now, I don’t know."

The Queen inclined her head in understanding, compassion shining in her eyes. "I would never force you into anything, Merlin," she said slowly, "but I would be honored if you would at least remain Camelot's protector, in whatever capacity you believe you are able. In Arthur's memory, if you can."

Merlin smiled at her then, a tiny but genuine grin that lightened the dark lines around his eyes. "I'm here, aren't I? I came back for you, Gwen, and for Albion. This is my home."

"And we must make a new beginning, Merlin," she said softly, eyes roaming the farthest reaches of the horizon – of her new united kingdom, the land that her husband had dreamed of. "Everything has changed."

"It wasn't supposed to," Merlin whispered. “There were _prophecies_ , it wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”

"But it has," she returned gently. "And we must go on. For Arthur, and for ourselves."

"He loved you more than anything," Merlin blurted suddenly, turning against the wind to face her, eyes slightly wild. "He – at the end, he wanted you to know that." He stumbled over the white lie, but hoped his sincerity would gild it sufficiently.

Gwen only smiled. "I know. And you are a terrible liar, Merlin."

He blushed. "I –"

"Merlin, we had our chance the night before Camlann, for a few hours in our tent there on the battlefield, to say what we wished to say." Her smile suddenly brightened the night, and he fidgeted awkwardly before its warmth. "I am pleased that his last words were yours; for you deserved that much, Merlin. You need not ask for more forgiveness from me."

Shock showed clearly on her beautiful face as Merlin suddenly dropped to one knee before her, there on the castle battlements, and bowed his head, shoulders shaking with the relief of absolution.

"I have always believed that you were a worthy Queen, Gwen, even before you believed in yourself," he said, the words ringing with clear conviction, "and tonight I swear fealty to you and to Camelot in Arthur's memory; all that I am, all that I have, for as long as I am needed, and for as long I live."

 _Which is likely to be a very long time_ , he added mentally with a wry grimace. That was a whole different set of problems which he was not up to dealing with tonight. "And I promise that…" He trailed off, incredulous, as a flare of bright magic suddenly sang through his veins, responding to something…some _one_ , in close proximity.

"Merlin?" If the Queen was wondering why he was staring at the waistline of her gown, she was too genteel (and too amused) to say so.

The young warlock sat back on his backside with a thump, staring up at her with a look of utmost incredulity, and… _wonder_.

"What is it, Merlin?"

"You must have done more than just _talking_ the night before Camlann, I take it?" he asked, with an impertinent grin so wide it nearly split his head in half.

Below them, a young rabbit counted itself lucky that the owl hunting it had suddenly veered off-course with a loud screech of surprise.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

"Merlin!" A firm fatherly swat upside the head accompanied the exclamation, and he yelped, edging away from Gaius's exasperated arm-flailing. "That is a subject not discussed in proper company, and certainly not in front of the lady in question!"

Archimedes hooted his agreement, nipping reprovingly at one of Merlin's ears (which due to their proximity to his shoulders were unfortunately frequent targets). Behind him, seated on Gaius's bed, Gwen giggled, and the little owl preened under the sound of her amusement.

"Um. Why?" Merlin was genuinely surprised. "Life should always be celebrated, Gaius, especially new life."

"Spoken like a true friend of the Old Religion," his mentor sighed tolerantly, "yet it is still a taboo topic in polite society, Merlin. However happy Her Majesty may be over the situation, she will not wish you to spread it abroad like last night's tavern gossip!"

"It's all right, Merlin," she assured him, too overjoyed at the news to feel anything but happiness. Perhaps now, she could find her own inner peace in the knowledge that she had not failed Arthur and his fledgling kingdom; that she would be able to raise a son or daughter to always know their father had been a magnificent king, nurture a child who could flourish in the shadow of magic and the light of peace. "The knights will be pleased; and who better to inform them than you?"

"If they're still speaking to me." The murmur was so quiet she barely heard it, but hear it she did, and frowned at its despondency.

"Whyever would they not?"

"Gwen, if I had revealed my – my magic, to Arthur earlier, I might have been able to prevent everything from happening, all the way back to Uther's death," Merlin whispered, scuffing a ragged toe dejectedly across the floorboards. Guinevere absently made a note to see that the poor man received some decent clothes, for those he wore were likely all he had, and that could not continue. "Lancelot, Elyan, even Mordred I might have saved – and now Gwaine!" Pain filled the blue eyes, deep and scarring and anguishing, and she knew that last had struck Merlin a terrible blow when the news had reached him. "Somewhere along the way, a mistake I made obviously turned the tide and changed the prophecies. Why would they trust me, now?"

"Prophecies are but a vague sketch of what might come to pass, have multiple interpretations, and they are by no means set in stone, Merlin; I have _told_ you this,” Gaius cut in, with a gentleness that told her this conversation had been had many times, in various incarnations throughout the years. “As to the knights, they knew you were doing all in your not-inconsiderable power to save the King. And when you decided to remain in exile, more than once they came to me for news of you. I believe you will find that they continue to be your friends, magic or not. Sir Leon and Sir Percival, at least, have both wandered in here tonight, ostensibly to ask after my health but looking around for you while they did so."

Merlin looked so pathetically hopeful it made Gwen want to hug him, and she resolved to do so as soon as Gaius was finished in his examination.

"Your Majesty, have you been experiencing any feelings of malaise, any unexplained illness?"

"Nothing, Gaius, save an unusual weariness during these cold mornings of late. I put it down to restless sleep more than anything else," she replied honestly. It was not the sleeping alone which caused her distress, for there had been multiple times where Arthur had not come to bed with her of evenings, and still more that he had been away from Camelot completely; but to wake up, knowing his arms would never be around her again…that, was much harder to bear.

"You appear to be perfectly healthy in every way, Your Majesty," Gaius declared warmly, and she saw genuine joy in the old man's eyes at the news. "My recommendation would be to slowly ease yourself back from the more physical demands of state in the next few months, and remember – you are the High Queen; there is no shame in asking for aid from your allies should you require it later in your…condition."

She smiled faintly at the physician's blush, for as a commonborn she too felt that the taboo topic was more amusing in high society and its ridiculous strictures than anything else.

"Please come to me should you develop trouble sleeping, pain, or signs of illness, Your Majesty."

"Of course. Thank you, Gaius." She smiled warmly as the elderly man bowed his head in respect, too stiff to properly bow and too gracious to not do so. "Merlin, walk with me?"

The golden owl on the young warlock's shoulder gave a disapproving hoot.

"You too, Archimedes," she added, smiling as the owl settled down once more, bright eyes peering about eagerly. "He is a beautiful creature, Merlin," she added, as they began to walk down the corridors of the castle toward the queen's chambers. "Where did you find him?"

"He found me," Merlin admitted, with a fond grin directed at the little bird, who gave him an answering chirrup and cuddled close to the warlock's ever-present neckerchief.

"Tell me," she requested, stroking a finger delicately over the owl's soft head. Archimedes cooed with satisfaction, eyes slitting half-closed.

"It was…almost a week, exactly, after – after Arthur died," he began haltingly, the painful memories stilting his words, dulling the knife-like sharpness of grief. "I don't remember much of the first few days…you must understand, Gwen, the chaos Magic itself was in, the turmoil of the Old Religion and its demands finally being met. Arthur's death, and Morgana's death – both of them settled old debts, returned balance to the world of Magic itself. The death of two Pendragon children apparently restored the balance of the Old Religion, something which had been thrown into chaos by Uther’s Purge."

Gwen nodded to a surprised guard who nearly fell over himself to belatedly salute, and motioned for him to continue after they passed.

Merlin swallowed. "I _am_ magic, Gwen. I could feel – feel _everything_ , as the world settled back into place, the scales balanced. The Lake of Avalon was in chaos, the Earth itself in deep turmoil – you saw the amount of rain that fell in those days – and it was all so overwhelming. I can't explain it to you. I only know that it took nearly a week before I felt…human, again."

"I'm so sorry you were alone, Merlin," she said softly.

The warlock smiled, and gave the tiny bird on his shoulder a fond rub with his cheek. Archimedes slitted open one eye, tolerantly allowing the gesture. "I was, until he found me one morning after the rain had stopped, and the Lake was quiet at last. I was exhausted, just sitting there, looking out over the Lake…when this crazy little bird came careening out of nowhere and, quite literally, dropped into my lap. It was like he didn't even know how to fly."

Archimedes chirped indignantly.

"Well you looked like a right idiot!"

The little bird clicked warningly and nipped his ear.

"Ow!"

Gwen stifled a giggle at the interaction. "Can he truly understand you?" she asked with genuine curiosity.

"I believe so," Merlin replied wryly, rubbing at his ear – where the skin had not even been broken. "I have always had a certain…ability, with animals. Comes from years of mucking out Arthur's stables, I suppose."

"Or your magic," she mused. "The old tales are full of stories about animals being far more responsive to magic than people."

Merlin nodded. "It's very possible. Gaius thinks he could be a familiar."

"A what?"

"A familiar is an animal with a special magical bond to a sorcerer, or a warlock. They are unusually intelligent, and can understand their chosen sorcerer perfectly, sometimes even being able to communicate in return with the magic-user. They are partly magical creatures, a gift to magic-wielders from the Earth itself."

Archimedes chirped in agreement, and Merlin grinned at his smug little familiar. "This little fellow apparently thinks he's the greatest thing that ever happened to me. Even if he does look like a prat trying to show off in front of a lady," he added, laughing at the owl's puffed out chest and smugly cocked head as he strutted down Merlin's arm and back again to his thin shoulder.

Gwen giggled at the little bird's antics, and she was thrilled to see Merlin's blue eyes sparkle with a happiness that she had not seen from him in many months. She silently thanked the gods of the Old Religion for caring for a grieving young warlock, offering this small gift to a man who deserved far better from his Destiny.

"Anyway," Merlin continued, "I tried to shoo him away but he wouldn't leave, only sat on a branch and screeched at me until I finally just ignored him."

"And then?"

"Then he landed on my head and wouldn't get off," the young man replied dryly, giving the bird a poke in the feathered chest. Archimedes meeped indignantly, beak clicking in warning. "Apparently he's chosen his sorcerer, and I have no say in the matter." The warmth in his eyes belied the exasperated tone. "He's entirely too smart for his own good, even if he is as arrogant as – oooorf!"

Gwen sighed, pulling her flowing skirts out from under her groaning friend. Apparently, Merlin's magic did not compensate for his own clumsiness, as he had just tripped over his own frayed boot-lace and planted himself face-first in the corridor.

Perched safely on a nearby wall-sconce, Archimedes's hooting sounded suspiciously like cackling laughter.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

"MERLIN!"

Merlin jumped as the door swung violently open, slamming into the wall behind with enough force to rattle Gaius's glass phials on the shelves. A small frantic ball of golden feathers dived toward him and promptly scuttled under the protection of a thick book propped tentlike on the table.

Raising an eyebrow, the young warlock sighed. "What did he do this time, Gwen?"

The Queen stood in the doorway, looking every inch dangerous royalty as her dark eyes flashed his direction. "He was in my bedchamber, Merlin!"

"He likes you," he observed mildly. "And you spoil him, you know."

"He was perching on my dressing screen while my maid _dressed_ me for the day!"

"Ah." Ears turning the color of the Pendragon crest, Merlin cleared his throat uneasily. "Archimedes!" He gave the book a sturdy thump of reproach, whereupon it collapsed in a pouf of dust.

An extremely disgruntled little owl wriggled out from under the pages and hooted angrily at him.

"Do not take that attitude with me, you little pest. That is entirely inappropriate behavior," he admonished.

Archimedes sneezed, feathers fluffing out until Merlin thought he looked rather like one of the dusters the chambermaids used to clean the castle's intricately-carved furniture.

"How did he get in there, anyway?" he mused, frowning.

The Queen sniffed haughtily. "I would not know, Merlin. But I expect you to control your familiar!"

The little owl hissed, puffing out his feathers even further. Merlin quickly hid a grin, and nodded in apparent deference. "Of course, My Lady. It will not happen again."

"See that it doesn't," she retorted, and swept out of the room in a swirl of purple silk skirts.

Archimedes watched dismally until her light footsteps had faded down the corridor, and then shuffled over to perch with dejection on an empty candlestick.

"You should know better," Merlin chided, lightly tapping his familiar on the beak with a quill. "Her temper is short, these days."

The owl glared at him and promptly sunk his head down into his ruffled plumage.

"And you're going to get yourself turned into a pie if you don't stop messing about with things that don't concern you."

The little bird shuffled awkwardly on the candlestick, but finally succeeded in turning round completely, now merely a hunched ball of pouting feathers.

Merlin laughed – something he had only just begun to do, after many months of feeling nothing but an overwhelming sadness. A quick flash of his eyes rotated the candlestick so that his disgruntled familiar was again facing him.

"Stop moping. It is not becoming."

Archimedes bared his beak in warning.

"Hush, you," he chuckled, lifting the tiny bird off his perch with ease, despite the stubborn clinging of talons to the abused candlestick. "What's wrong with you today, hm?"

He rubbed a thin finger over the soft head, watching with amusement as the owl's secondary eyelids slowly, gradually, slid shut in a gesture of clear contentment. Slowly the bird's plumage flattened as he relaxed, looking almost as if he were melting into a little puddle of feathers, cuddled in the crook of the warlock's arm.

"You're not jealous of Gwen, are you?" he murmured, stroking his familiar's downy topknot. "Because you know I'm only doing my best to – to do what Arthur would, if he were here."

Tears stung his eyes briefly, though the pain was lessening with each day that passed. It felt disloyal, somehow, to feel any kind of contentment when his very heart and soul screamed that the world was _wrong_ – and yet, somehow he was content, much of the time. It defied all logic, even if Gaius maintained that the healing touch of a familiar did much to ease the ache of a sorcerer's torn soul.

As if sensing his distress, the little owl scuttled up his arm to his shoulder, gently butting his cheek as if in apology.

He smiled, and dashed away one solitary tear before re-opening the book he'd been perusing. Archimedes chirped in inquiry, peering down at the text, written with beautiful calligraphy in the language of the Old Religion.

"I found it in the library's secret vaults – Geoffery said King Uther didn't burn every magic book, he kept a few. Securely locked up, of course, but those which he thought were most powerful he didn't dare burn. This one is all Light Magic – defensive spells and protection charms. The defensive spell on the book itself would have prevented anyone evil from accessing it and anyone at all trying to destroy it," Merlin said, unaware that he was rambling in his excitement. "It's really quite amazing, actually."

Archimedes looked vaguely interested, fluttering down to peer closely at the pages. The little owl then cocked his head to one side and looked up, chirruping quizzically.

"I'm looking for a spell that will protect an unborn child, without putting any added drain on the mother's strength," he said quietly. "I could easily weave a protective enchantment around Gwen – already have, on her clothing, with her consent – but most of those must be maintained by drawing on the natural strength of the mother’s love. She will not have the strength to maintain a protective charm of the magnitude I can cast, not for six months."

The owl hooted his agreement.

"But there must be something which will protect a child without draining the mother unduly," he mused, using magic to flip a few pages, easily scanning the words in bulk. Archimedes squawked indignantly and scooted off the book, head tilted as the pages whirred past in a blur of fine print.

A cleared throat made him look up, eyes still unconsciously flashing gold. A moment later they cleared, and he smiled shyly in welcome.

"Sir Leon!"

"Please, Merlin," the knight requested, raising a hand when the young warlock began to stand. "You've never felt the need to stand on ceremony before; and we are equals now."

The knight watched with amusement as the late King's servant blushed to the roots of his hair, and wondered with sad fondness if Arthur had, sometime before he died, truly realized the humility and loyalty of this remarkable young man.

This sorcerer.

Leon had been Uther's man in name, but he had always been Prince Arthur's knight in heart. Loyalty was the most important trait to him both as a knight and as a man, and he had always been loyal to Arthur first, and all else – including the Law itself – second. If that meant protecting Arthur's increasingly impertinent manservant because the prince so decreed it not long after the poisoning incident with King Bayard, then so be it; and he had always done so, to the best of his ability. He had watched Arthur transform from an arrogant crown prince with delusions of an easy life – to a magnificent, just, and strong King, who loved his people and truly wanted to be a great king, not just to assume rule over a great kingdom. And Leon knew that his irreverent, disrespectful, and extremely loyal servant was responsible in large part for this change.

He did not profess to understand what bound King Arthur and Merlin together, but he recognized the bond of unshakeable loyalty when he saw it, for it bound his own heart to the Pendragon.

And now, he had transferred that loyalty to the High Queen – and to King Arthur's secret guardian angel. If Merlin had magic, then magic could not be evil – because the young man had not an evil or even bad-tempered bone in his body. Leon had never met anyone, noble or otherwise, who was so inherently Good; therefore, Merlin's magic must also be Good magic.

Simple logic, but it was enough for him until given proof otherwise.

"Please, have a seat," Merlin said, obviously nervous. "Would you like something to drink? Gaius won't be back until he's finished with his rounds in the lower town, but I still have –"

"I'm fine, Merlin; just wanted to talk to you, actually. Umm. Why is your owl staring at me like that?"

Merlin turned back to the table from where he had been nervously fumbling with the half-full pot of tea Gaius had left.

"Archimedes, don't be rude," he said sternly, ignoring the owl's chirp of impertinence. "Sir Leon was Arthur's most loyal knight. Now behave yourself."

The little owl hooted and, to both men's surprise, fluttered over to land awkwardly on the knight's shoulder, talons hooking in the glinting chain mail.

"I'm…flattered?" Leon said, eyeing the bird's powerful gaze with unease.

Archimedes chuffed softly and hunkered down on the knight's shoulder, regarding Merlin with obvious smugness.

Leon's eyes danced with amusement. "Fickle little thing, isn't he?"

"He has a quicksilver temper," Merlin agreed, seating himself opposite the knight with a grin. "And he holds a grudge better than any noble I've ever met. Not that that's been that many, actually…"

The knight laughed, dislodging the bird, who then landed on the spine of another thick tome and regarded the both of them with an eerie, unblinking gaze.

"You wanted to see me, Sir Leon?"

"I did, Merlin. In an official capacity, actually."

The young man paled slightly. "I've not used my magic since I returned, Sir Leon, I promise; the people are not ready –"

The knight reached forward and placed a strong hand on his arm, more out of reflex than anything else; for he had never before touched a servant. But somehow, he had always known that Merlin was no mere servant, and the gesture now seemed natural.

"Merlin, I've come to ask a favor of your magic, not reprimand you for using it," he said calmly.

"You…what?"

"I realize, as you've just said yourself, that the people are not truly prepared for magic-users to share their abilities in the open, lifted ban or no," the knight said, his brows creased with lines of weary thought. "They must slowly be accustomed to the idea, if we are to keep peace in the kingdom. The Queen is of the same opinion, and she has given me permission to make this my foremost priority, now that we are at peace with the five kingdoms."

"And you want me to…what?"

"To begin, I would like for you to take over half of the knights' training," Leon replied, quite seriously. "If we are to ever defend ourselves properly against magic – for despite Morgana's death there will always be those who wish to usurp the throne – then we must practice that defense. I am asking for your assistance in this, Merlin, because not only are you the most powerful sorcerer in the kingdom, but you already are known to most of the knights."

Merlin stared at the earnest knight in utter disbelief. Truly, times had changed, and this was a new beginning for Albion – to go from magic constituting treason, to four months later using magic to train the army of Camelot…it was enough to make his magic sing with joy, and his heart break with pain.

This should have been Arthur's kingdom. This was what he had worked for, for so long, to bring about a world where he could openly and freely be Arthur's friend and guardian – he, a warlock, and a servant.

But Arthur was dead by Magic's twisted hand, and his premature death had heralded a new age, led by his Once and Future Queen and a group of knights so dedicated to his memory that they would follow Queen Guinevere and her decisions without question.

It was not what Merlin had ever thought would be his destiny, and it broke his heart. He had sworn to protect Arthur with his life or die trying; and he had broken that all-important promise. That single man he had sworn to protect, he had completely failed.

And those terrible consequences, he might never be able to truly live with.

He didn't even realize he was trembling, hands clenched tightly between his knees, until he saw Leon's worried eyes a few inches from his own. The knight was now kneeling before him – a reversal of roles so incongruous that had he not been trying desperately to not cry he might have laughed – and regarding him with concern.

"I realize this may be too much too quickly, Merlin," Leon said quietly. "I will abide by your decision, if and when you are ready to give it."

He managed a nod, and Leon rose to leave, understanding and shared sadness in his eyes.

"Wait," Merlin finally got out, as the knight reached the door.

"Merlin?"

"Get me a schedule of the training times you wish me to oversee," he said quietly. "I will be there."

Leon nodded, in that moment recognizing and accepting him as an equal, both of them brothers in arms through many years of protecting the Crown Prince and King of Camelot. He gave the young warlock a small smile, and then ducked under the low doorway to continue on his way.

Merlin sat staring at nothing for a long while afterwards, never noticing the tiny owl worriedly huddling against his neck.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

He had never felt so utterly out of place in his life.

Oh, there had been times, very few and far between, when Arthur had relaxed so much as to let him simply hang around and watch the knights prepare and train rather than making him the target or practice dummy. Merlin cherished those moments now more than ever, locking them safely away in his memories for a more grey day – something to keep him company when Gaius was asleep and his magic itching to be productive. They had usually been right after a particularly grueling week, or when Arthur had gotten wind of someone mistreating the servants in general – because Merlin somehow always seemed to be in the thick of trouble whenever it went through the lower ranks – and they had been quite pleasant, in a weird sort of way.

But now, he was completely out of his element. Standing shyly at the door of the armoury at the time Leon had arranged, watching the knights be fitted by their squires or servants – and having no one to wait upon himself…no one to grin and smack him upside the head when the chain mail tugged on golden hair…no one to insult his ineptitude despite the fact that his master was always ready before his knights…no one to unwittingly wear Merlin's most powerful protective enchantments close to his heart and head, woven with care and renewed with each daily polish…

This was wrong.

He shook himself out of the memories that assaulted him as he stepped through the door of the armoury, and unfortunately with the same motion dislodged Archimedes, who had been half-dozing on his shoulder as he walked through the courtyard to the training grounds. The owl chirped in annoyance and flew off to perch on a knight's helmet, much to the amusement of the man's young squire, who had never seen Merlin or his familiar before.

Merlin nodded in quiet greeting to the wide-eyed youngster – had he ever been or looked so young? – and continued, easily locating the object of his search. It was not hard to see Percival, tall as he was; but the man still looked rather lost, and Merlin knew the feeling. To do alone what you've always done with someone…

Gwaine was another death on his conscience, one that had cut deeply and might never scar over.

The knight was struggling to fasten a gauntlet one-handed (coming from non-nobility stock himself, the gentle giant had firmly refused to accept a servant or even a squire, one thing Merlin respected deeply about him), the buckle refusing to latch.

"Let me," he said suddenly, emerging from the shadows into the too-empty space where Gwaine's armour had always rested.

Percival's honest face creased in a welcoming smile. He had seen magic as a boy, in common use in his own land; to find that someone as gentle as Merlin used it made little difference to his perception of Arthur's loyal servant. "Merlin! But you don't –"

"No, please let me." He was rather proud that his voice was steady, steadier than his hands – and somehow he knew the knight understood.

"Thank you," Percival said quietly as he finished both gauntlets, and he nodded, managing a smile. They both firmly did not look at the empty space next to them, which by common consent and respect none had dared move to fill since Gwaine's death.

That is, until a small golden owl swooped down and perched on the empty armour-rack, hooting softly, head cocked to one side.

Merlin chuckled. "You can't stand for anyone else to have the attention, can you," he murmured fondly.

Percival smiled, bending down to get a good look at the complacent little bird, before then standing and turning to Merlin. "He's been good for you," he observed quietly.

"He has," was the quiet reply. "I would be…lost, entirely, without him. And I can't even explain why."

"Magic," Percival supplied laconically, as he hefted his sword and began to follow the other knights from the armoury.

"Magic," Merlin repeated, in a disbelieving whisper. To say the word aloud, without fear! Archimedes flew up to perch on his shoulder, tugging on a strand of dark hair close to his ear. "Stop that!"

The owl gave a derisive hoot and tugged on his hair again.

"Being my familiar doesn't give you the right to abuse me, you fat little feather duster," he added, scowling.

Archimedes screeched indignantly, straight in his ear.

"I _told_ Gwen to stop feeding you sweetmeats at night, it's hardly my fault if you're so fat you can't even fly a straight line. Here, no biting! Ow!"

A throat cleared in front of them. "If you've both quite finished?" Leon inquired, hiding a smile behind his gauntleted hand.

"Archimedes. Go hunt or something. _Now_ ," Merlin growled, when the little bird only perched defiantly on a nearby sword handle and ignored him. The warlock flicked a short blast of entirely non-harmful fire at the owl, who meeped and took off with a screech, soon only a golden speck in the blue sky.

"So…not only can he understand you, he can talk back to you?"

"In a way," Merlin replied, grinning briefly. "He has no respect for me at all. Arthur would no doubt say it was turn and turn about."

Leon was pleased to see that the last sentence was delivered without any pain, only a fond, sad smile. "Indeed. Merlin, I must warn you that not every knight is pleased with the idea of learning to combat magic," he continued as they walked out of the armoury side-by-side. "You will need to tread carefully – but do not permit them to treat you as a servant; you are one no longer."

"Nor am I anything else, however, Sir Leon," Merlin said quietly. "I have no new master, but nor have I been released from castle service."

That gave Leon pause, for he had not considered Merlin's lack of status. Somehow the young warlock had always defied societal strictures, and he had been aware that Arthur would have made Merlin a knight on more than one occasion had he thought Merlin desired it or would accept it, in recent years. But now, with his master dead, Merlin would indeed be without a purpose, for he had been specifically appointed as servant to the Crown Prince by the former King; none but the royalty could rescind that appointment. And if the rumors from the battlefield were correct, Merlin was no ordinary sorcerer. A dragonlord must be, by birth, a noble – this much Leon knew from before the Purge.

"I believe the Queen intends to make you a member of the Council," he offered slowly, making a mental note to mention the matter again to said Queen at the earliest opportunity.

Merlin's eyes lit up for a brief instant. "Really?"

"I believe she will require a liaison between magic-users and non," he said. "Someone who knows the common people and who can show them that magic is not inherently evil, any more so than a sword is without a hand to wield it."

"Leon, thank you," Merlin said suddenly, his eyes bright. "To have the support of one so dedicated to Arthur and all he stood for…"

"Merlin." The knight paused, heedless of the gathering of trainees behind them on the field, and put a hand on the young warlock's shoulder. "Whether he ever said it or not, Arthur trusted you – magic or no magic. I can do no less for my King, and for the one who protected him unthanked for so many years."

Merlin nodded without a word, fidgeting nervously with his neckerchief.

"Now, what say you, Merlin? Shall we show them a thing or two about fighting magic? Ready for a bit of revenge for all those times Arthur made you a moving target?"

Blue eyes gleamed predatorily, and Merlin grinned.

* * *

"Magic-users are unaccustomed to fighting at close range, and with their own hands," Merlin instructed, warming to his topic now after an hour of slowly getting to know the group of knights in a new capacity. "Your best defense, if possible, would be to use every bit of physical strength at your disposal in a surprise attack. The knights of Camelot are known for their swordsmanship for a reason; you must turn that same discipline to your physical combat skill at close quarters as well. Remember, a weapon can be used against you," and here he levitated Leon's practice sword without a word, sending it hovering over a group of wide-eyed young trainees, "but your own fists cannot, not without a powerful mind-controlling spell." He dropped the sword lightly to the ground.

"In other words, if we can get close enough, we stand a better chance in a fistfight against a sorcerer than fighting with a sword," Sir Owain spoke up, one of Arthur's oldest and most loyal of knights.

"That's right," Merlin replied. “Arthur always said –" his voice shook slightly, but he tempered it with determination and continued – "always said I couldn't fight my way out of a paper lantern with a sword, or defend myself in a brawl, and he was correct in that respect."

"What else is key in fighting a magic-user, Merlin?" Leon asked quietly.

“Understanding the enemy,” he replied. “Magic is not an unlimited resource, as some may think.” He noticed looks of slight relief on a few of the knights’ faces. “If you are in battle against a group of sorcerers who are casting widescale spells, know that they cannot do so for extended periods of time; they are draining to the user. Offensive spells are more draining than defensive spells. And so on. We will revisit this more on another day.”

“Now that is actually useful information,” Sir Bors, one of Arthur’s best tacticians, spoke up, grinning.

“Do I need to be worried, Sir Bors?”

“I was at Camlann. I am not so foolish, Merlin,” the man replied dryly.

“Ahem. What else, Merlin?”

"Being able to dodge, Sir Leon," was the rueful answer. "Sorcerers as a general rule use spells meant to entirely obliterate a problem. You will likely not survive a magical wound without a magical healer, and there is no knightly shame in running from a superior force such as magic. Even the reflexes demanded of a knight of Camelot will not entirely save you from a sorcerer expert in elemental magic."

"Elemental magic?" Sir Tobias inquired curiously.

"Earth magic is far too deep and too powerful for most sorcerers to utilize; it takes much training in the Old Religion and a fine attunement to the Earth itself. You will primarily encounter fire," Merlin said simply, creating a fireball in the palm of his hand before tossing it into the air, where it dissipated in a shower of sparks. "Wind," and he flicked his wrist, sending a small whirlwind through a gap in the knights. "And occasionally water." A small bubble of water rose from his fingers, floating over to Percival, whereupon it popped mid-air, sending a flood of water all over the tall knight.

The others' laughter at their now-drenched comrade did much to dispel the tension which had hovered over the group since the awkward beginning of the training session; now, with a bit of Merlin's magic being used for amusement and not destruction, it had begun to thaw the ice between them.

Archimedes, however, who had swooped down to perch on a much surprised Percival's shoulder for this session, did not appreciate the deluge, and let his warlock know in no uncertain terms.

Merlin's yelp and frantic swatting at the angry, wet bird diving at his head shattered the rest of the tension between him and the knights, and they roared with laughter as his arms flailed dramatically in an effort to keep his balance, ultimately losing the battle. He found himself on his backside in the training field, staring up at a group of thirty knights in utter mortification, failing before he'd even begun.

No one was more surprised than he, to see Sir Bedivere, one of the least enthusiastic supporters of the New Camelot and old friend of Uther Pendragon, come forward and extend an arm down to him. The grey-haired knight silently pulled the young man to his feet, and gave him a respectful nod.

"I am an old man, and have long known the prophecies of the Once and Future King, Merlin Emrys," Bedivere said solemnly. "We would be foolish to refuse your aid. In Arthur's memory, I will take your instruction."

Merlin's sigh of relief was audible, as was the knocking of his trembling knees, and the older man smiled in encouragement. One by one behind them, the knights murmured their agreement, and he looked up to meet Leon's eyes with astonishment.

The knight only shrugged, as if to say _I told you so_ , and gestured for him to continue. Leon was a good judge of character, and had hand-picked this first group of knights specifically due to their loyalty to Arthur above all else; even those who were still wary of magic, would see the sense in learning to combat it for the new realm.

"Right, then," Merlin spoke up suddenly, smiling. "We'll begin with some basic exercises in dodging elemental spells…"

As the exercises commenced on the knights' training ground, the townsfolk gathered in excited little knots to watch King Arthur's newly-returned manservant cheerfully pelt Camelot's finest with hot water-bubbles and miniature fireballs.

One little girl, about six years of age and now able to tell others that she could See things sometimes no one else seemed to, saw Emrys's pet owl perched on a fence-post, feathers fluffed out to dry. And to her Sight, the odd little bird looked to be hooting out encouragement from time to time – she just couldn't tell to which side.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

While the knights had been wary but accepting of Merlin's appointment to their instruction, as a general whole the members of the Council were, to put it mildly, less understanding of Queen Guinevere's appointment of a former servant and covert sorcerer to their elite table.

"I will hear no objections on the matter, gentlemen and ladies," the Queen finally said, in a tone that immediately silenced the uneasy murmurs. "If we are to remain a united kingdom I will require a liaison between magic users and the non-magical community; who better to fill that void than Merlin?"

"Your Majesty, we will of course abide by your decisions," Sir Ewin interjected patiently, with only a hint of the condescension he once held long ago for the spirited commonborn queen. "I merely remind the council that… _Merlin_ , was not even seen in Camelot after Arthur's death, until this week. I simply find that to be indicative that he is not as attuned with the people as you would require, My Lady."

"He has a point," Merlin interjected calmly, to the shock of the rest. Where was the impertinent serving boy they had all grown to know and tolerate and – in some cases – even like, who had stood behind Arthur and whispered impertinent commentary when he felt the King needed distraction from matters of state? This solemn young man, with eyes old beyond his years…this Merlin was different, and not simply due to the now-public knowledge of his abilities. This man was a stranger to many, and it made them understandably uneasy.

"I don't know the people as I should, Your Majesty. I would recommend you make rectifying that situation my primary duty as your liaison between the magical community and the common people."

"So noted," the Queen agreed, her eyes showing pleasure that Merlin had diffused the councilman's doubts. "Will that satisfy your concerns, Sir Ewin?"

"Yes, My Lady."

"It does not satisfy _mine_ ," Lord Baldwin, an aging noble on Merlin's other side, muttered, loudly enough to be heard by Merlin but not the Queen. "A sorcerer on the council!"

"Actually, I'm a warlock, Lord Baldwin," Merlin explained patiently, for what seemed the thousandth time. On his shoulder, Archimedes, who had been oddly silent until now, fluffed out his feathers and fixed the crotchety old man with a look of owlish disgust.

"The difference being?" Lord Alfric, seated on Baldwin's other side, looked genuinely curious rather than confrontational.

"I was born with magic; I could no more rid myself of it or stop using it than I could stop breathing. A sorcerer also learns and uses magic with a varying degree of innate skill, directing and channeling it to accomplish a purpose by a spell; a warlock uses magic instinctively, without spells always being necessary. I don't simply channel Magic's power, because I don't have to. I share it, I co-exist with it."

"That is so much rubbish," Lord Baldwin exclaimed loudly, ignoring the elbow to his ribs from a much smarter, or at least less confrontational, councilman. "You are a _sorcerer_ , boy, and one who hid his dark arts in the king's very chambers!"

"That is a most serious accusation against one in the magical community. I assure you, the only significant magic that ever took place in Arthur's chambers were the protection spells I placed nightly on his windows and the poison detection spells I used on his breakfast," Merlin replied tightly, reining in his anger at the accusation with the help of his familiar's distressed chirping. "Neither of which constitute dark arts, Lord Baldwin.”

"All of them constituted _treason_ , boy!"

The serving lad behind the angry Lord gave a small yelp as the councilman's arm flailed, knocking over a pitcher of weak wine being supplied to the council members. The splash of crimson over Lord Alfric's pristine cream-coloured tunic made Merlin wince, for he well remembered how impossible such a stain was to get out without the aid of magic.

"Really, lad, how hard is it to remain at your station and keep hold of things?" the young lord sighed, and Merlin was pleased to see there was not a blow forthcoming, nor even harsh words for the poor boy.

"Lord Alfric," he said quietly.

"Merlin?"

"With your permission, milord?" He raised a hand, and at the lord's hesitant nod, spoke a quiet word that sent a shiver through the table, each unused to hearing magic in any context, much less so trivial a one.

Lord Alfric glanced down at his clean tunic, and smiled. "Dashed useful, that," he observed blandly, giving the old man beside him a nudge. "Eh, Baldwin?"

The old man dared not voice what he was obviously thinking, due to the Queen's incinerating gaze as she ruthlessly stared him down.

"Relax," Merlin said over his shoulder to the petrified young boy. "No harm done, hm? And be grateful it was Lord Alfric you spilled on. I do vividly remember a certain Crown Prince’s method of teaching me not to spill whilst serving was to chuck the empty goblet at my head, followed by the tray _and_ the pitcher if I was able to duck the goblet fast enough."

He didn't notice the chorus of chuckles and Gwen's soft smile which rippled around the table at the fond, irreverent mention of their late king.

The serving boy, meanwhile, looked awed to be addressed personally. "Milord Emrys?"

"Oh, for the love of _gods_ , do not call me that," Merlin muttered, ears flushing in embarrassment. On his shoulder, Archimedes gave a hoot of what sounded suspiciously like laughter.

"But milord Emrys! 'Tis an honor!"

"Just Merlin will be fine, thanks," he replied, squirming in his chair.

"But milord The Just Merlin!"

"A commonborn Queen and a sorcerer on the council being worshipped by other aspiring servants," Baldwin muttered. "Uther would be turning in his grave."

"Uther is no longer ruler of Camelot, Lord Baldwin," Guinevere said sharply.

"And how are we to know that King Arthur was not _enchanted_ for years by your spying sorcerer, My _Lady_?"

Across the table, Ewin half rose from his chair. "You will address the Queen with respect, Lord Baldwin, no matter what your disagreements may be!"

The argument devolved into an extremely brief, very heated shouting match among four or five of the council, which lasted until Merlin finally stood and slammed a powerful hand down on the table, causing the entire room to shake and the chandelier over their heads to vibrate with the sheer force of his power, nearly all the candles flaring up before winking out abruptly. Archimedes fell from his perch, startled, and wisely hunkered down on the table between Merlin and the elderly Lord.

The room fell silent, staring at Merlin.

"I assure you, _My Lord_ ," he said through clenched teeth, willing his knees to stop shaking, "that had I enchanted Arthur it would have been to _stay in his bloody tent_ at the battle of Camlann. To enchant another against his will is the darkest of all dark magic and the deepest betrayal of trust possible by any magic-user."

"To that, I can personally attest," the Queen interjected, with a cold glare leveled at the elderly Lord.

"And whatever your feelings about magic may be, Lord Baldwin, those I can easily accept; I have done nothing to gain your trust, and you have no reason to trust magic, given all you have seen during and since the Purge." Merlin's eyes flashed, not gold but piercing stormy blue.

"But you will _not_ taint the memory of King Arthur and his strength of character with these baseless accusations," the young warlock said, his voice deepening dangerously. Gwen cast one look at the wall-sconces, saw how they were flaring into perilously powerful blazes, and reached over to place a gentle hand atop Merlin's trembling one.

She needn't have bothered.

Archimedes twitched, made a strangled sort of _huuurrrrrk_ noise, and then proceeded to cough up a pellet – right in Lord Baldwin's goblet, where the object landed with a quiet plop amid the startled silence.

The little owl then flew in triumph back to Merlin's shoulder, looking ridiculously proud of himself.

Tiring even more easily these days, Gwen decided it would be better to temporarily dismiss the council, than try to get Alfric to stop sniggering into his sleeve and Merlin to cease chasing his familiar with a rolled-up scroll.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

As the weeks passed, harvest into early winter, the sight of Merlin's mischievous golden owl became commonplace in Camelot. Those who knew the young warlock tolerated the little bird for his sake, and those who did not know Emrys at least knew better than to so much as lay a finger on his familiar. Archimedes seemed particularly fond of Gwen and Leon, hated poor George the serving-boy, and tolerated Gaius's presence with a well-founded wariness (the physician had swatted him with a rolled-up scroll when the bird had knocked over three glass jars containing rare herbs).

But it was Merlin he loved, and Merlin he protected, to the best of his tiny little ability, much to the amusement and affection of the people who came into contact with King Arthur's manservant-come-unofficial-court-sorcerer.

And so it was on a bitterly frosty morning in late harvest, that Queen Guinevere awakened to the sound of screaking talons on her bedchamber window. Luckily for the little owl, her maidservant had already lit the morning fire in her chamber and had laid out a warm robe and slippers beside it; otherwise, she thought with annoyance, she would not be rising from her warm bed to see what the little pest wanted now. Just last night the wind had taken a turn for the worse, and the chill in the air was almost painful to the lungs.

Archimedes barreled in on a gust of frosty wind, hooting in distress, and she hastily shut the window behind the bird.

"What is it now, Archimedes?" she asked in annoyance. "Have you escaped Merlin yet again, because I told him the last time that – Archimedes!"

The owl had swooped down and tugged at a strand of her long hair – gently, she felt no pain, but firmly.

"Stop that!"

The little owl hooted and flew to the door of the chamber, fluttering nervously over the door handle, and then darted back to her, this time tugging at her fur-cuffed sleeve.

While the owl certainly was mischievous and had a mind of his own, as well as an unhealthy attraction to her – this was not normal behavior for the intelligent creature.

"What is it, Archimedes?" she asked, more gently.

The tawny owl only gave another cry of distress and tugged anxiously at her sleeve, before darting back over to the door.

Concern mounting, she hastily donned one of her older dresses (meaning she could get into it without help) and slipped into warm shoes and a thick cloak. She then moved quickly toward the door and unlocked it.

Archimedes cheeped softly in distress and swooped down to huddle on her shoulder.

"Is it Merlin?" she asked, genuinely worried now.

Gaius had left two days before to visit some of the outlying villages, who were pleading for help with an outbreak of a sweating sickness that attacked the very old and very young. Merlin had been left on his own before, obviously, but that had been when Arthur was Merlin's master, and despite his rough attitude toward his servant he had always made certain to check on Merlin (and Merlin's irregular eating and sleeping habits) when Gaius had been absent.

Now, Archimedes only chirped miserably and huddled against her neck, shivering in the chill that bit sharply at them as they passed into the courtyard. She hurried through the nearly deserted corridors of the castle, alarm now lending speed to her steps, though she could no longer move as quickly as she once had, given the little life that was growing inside her and sapping some of her own energy.

It appeared to be enough for Archimedes, however, for he made no sound other than an occasional squawk when he was jostled by her. When they rounded the corner to Gaius's chambers, however, he took off with a sudden flurry of wings, and soon disappeared through the door of the physician's quarters, which stood ajar.

That in itself was alarming, for the door should have been tightly closed against the cold night.

She lost no time in entering the cramped rooms, not for the first time noticing how cold it was despite the fire flickering into embers on the hearth, and again berated herself for forgetting that not all the inhabitants of the castle were as fortunate as the Queen. Archimedes screeched impatiently from the back of the chamber, and she hurried up the steps to Merlin's little room.

A gasp escaped her before she could help it, puffing into a cloud of crystalline vapor – for the room was absolutely freezing, due to a large crack that had somehow appeared in the stone wall, through which icy wind was fairly knifing into her lungs.

"Merlin!"

The young warlock lay on his bed, shivering violently under its single blanket and murmuring in his sleep. Archimedes landed with a flutter of wings, worriedly nudging his master's blue-tinged ears with his downy head. He softly chirped his distress, cocking a head up at her.

"Oh, Merlin, what did you do?" Gwen murmured, hastening back out into the outer room to snatch the extra coverlet from Gaius's bed. She threw the blankets over the unconscious warlock, and then tapped the little bird on the beak lightly.

"Go get Sir Leon," she said clearly, and Archimedes hooted in acknowledgement, speeding out of the room faster than any bird she'd ever seen.

She sat on the edge of the thin bunk and shook the sleeping man's shoulder firmly. "Merlin, wake up. Merlin?" Try as she might, she could not fully rouse him, and her concern began to mount as his shivering did not subside. The unhealthy tinge to his ears and the stiffness of his fingers, clenched around the thin pillow, indicated he was dangerously cold – and where had that crack in the wall come from? Why had he not slept in the outer room if the wall needed repairs?

Beneath her gentle hand as she stroked his hair, Merlin mumbled something in his sleep, shivering convulsively. Suddenly he rolled half-over, arm outstretched as if to reach for something or cast a spell, and she felt the room shake as an invisible force left his fingertips, a blast of warmth that died instantly in the frozen air.

The crack in the stonework widened, dust and crumbling rock showering from the fissure.

It was the first time she had ever seen Merlin not fully in control of his magic, and it was more than a little frightening.

A piercing cry shattered the silence, and a blur of gold feathers dove at the bed, perching on Merlin's trembling arm.

"Merlin?" A moment later Leon appeared in the doorway. His face paled at the sight within, though as always he had the presence of mind to bow slightly. "My Lady?"

"Leon, have the guards prepare one of the guest chambers nearby, build the fire as high as you can within and warm the bedclothes with hot stones from the kitchen fire," she said, looking up from Merlin long enough to see the knight nod and disappear instantly, heavy bootsteps running through the outer room into the corridor.

"Merlin, you need to wake up, before you bring the whole wall down on you," she murmured, tucking the blanket-edge around the young man's cold fingers. The wind howled through the crevice in the stonework, sending a blast of frigid air whipping around the small room. Archimedes meeped in protest and burrowed under the blanket, scrunching himself up into a little ball of fluff in the crook of his master's shoulder and neck.

Merlin shivered again, muttering a name that sounded suspiciously like _Mordred_ , and Gwen's heart broke yet again for the tormented soul – two souls, for Arthur had given his all as well – who had sacrificed so much to bring about the kingdom she now ruled in peace.

"Merlin, it's over," she said softly, stroking his hair back from his forehead. "It's all over, Merlin. Come back to us now."

Leon's footsteps pounded in the outer room, and a moment later he stumbled in, breathing heavily. "It is being done, My Lady. What happened here?"

"I believe he's having a nightmare," she said sadly, raising a hand to indicate the crack in the wall. "He is using magic in his sleep, and I think he caused that last night without realizing it, and without waking up. Leon, we must get him to warmer chambers."

"Immediately, Your Majesty." The knight knelt and unceremoniously scooped up the warlock's thin figure as if he were no more than a child, blankets and all.

Archimedes tumbled down in a screeching heap, finally hooking his talons in Leon's leg braces to break his fall. Gwen could not help but giggle despite the situation, as the knight was staring cluelessly downward, unable to see the little bird hanging upside down from his laces.

The sound seemed to rouse Merlin slightly, for he groaned and shifted in the knight's grasp.

"Easy, Merlin," Leon said soothingly, beginning the trek down the steps – carefully – with his shivering burden.

A puff of frosty air escaped the young warlock's lips in a drowsy sigh. "Arthur?" he murmured, eyes still closed.

Gwen hadn't thought it possible for her heart to break any further than it had in the last tumultuous months – but that one faint word, so full of sleepy trust and _hope_ …after all those months of immense strength in the wake of a grieving kingdom, this was her undoing.

She collapsed down onto Gaius's workbench, buried her head in her hands, and wept. Wept for the child who would never know his father, for the future she should have had with the man who had loved her so much he defied centuries of tradition to make her his queen – for the brother and friend and servant who had lost so much and still remained so kind and loyal and Good.

It was only after a worried Sir Leon returned to find her, that she realized a tiny tawny owl was sitting on the table beside her in a miserable hunch of feathers, looking at her with sad golden eyes.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

Merlin's first coherent thought was _really, after all that work I've gone and died in my sleep_ , followed shortly by, _how embarrassing_ and _not immortal after all, then?_

But then a muffled clatter broke into the fluffy, warm muddle which was his state of mind, and he cracked one eye to see entirely unfamiliar surroundings. The bed was certainly far softer than he'd ever been accustomed to sleeping in, and he was warmer than he'd ever been in his life except for that one time he'd come down with a lung infection and his magic nearly burned out trying to combat the resulting fever – obviously, he wasn't in Gaius's drafty little chambers any longer.

Which meant that someone had moved him in his sleep to some kind of guest room, and that was just odd.

He shut his eye again, trying to make sense of it all, and when he finally blinked once more –

Two enormous golden eyes were staring at him, less than two inches from his nose.

Startled, he let out an embarrassing yelp and bolted upright, effectively dislodging the tawny owl which had seated itself on his chest upon his awakening. Archimedes cheeped in irritation and scuttled up his arm to his shoulder, pecking sharply at his ear.

"Milord Emrys?" A polite voice spoke from the center of the room, and he yelped again, snatching the blankets back up to his chin.

"Who are you?" he demanded, not really caring if he was being rude or not.

"My name is Tod, milord," the youngster said proudly, regarding him with something suspiciously like awe. "Her Majesty has assigned me as your caretaker while you are recovering. Milord, my grandfather has hidden magic in fear of his life for many a year; 'tis an honor to now serve the Lord Emrys!"

"Look…Tod," Merlin said uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck in an uneasy gesture, borne of many years of watching beheadings. "If we're even going to _get along_ you're going to have to call me Merlin."

"But milord!"

"And _secondly_ , I don't need a caretaker, this is too much like having a servant. I'm no lord, and certainly no noble; I don't want you or anyone else as a servant." A scowl affixed itself into place on the young warlock's face, though it did not seem to bother his cheerful companion whatsoever.

"I would be honored to be such, milord Merlin," the boy chirped, fairly skipping over to the fire to stoke the blaze even higher.

"You've got to be joking," the young warlock muttered, staring after Tod incredulously. Archimedes made a rude noise at the boy's back, and received a stern tap on the beak for his pains. "Stop being vulgar, you little pest," he admonished sternly. A cheep of derision. "I was that young once, and far more inept a servant." The owl only hooted, and hunched down in a moody ball of feathers on his shoulder.

Merlin swung his legs over the side of the bed, shivering in the still frosty air. Vague impressions of the night before filtered through his consciousness, ethereal and shadowy…what exactly had happened?

"Look, Tod –"

"Yes, milord!"

He sighed. "My name is Merlin."

"Of course, milord Merlin!"

"Look, just – how did I get here?" he asked, hands clenched in his hair as he looked around. "And where is here, anyway?"

"You are in one of the royal guest chambers, milord, a short distance from the physician Gaius's quarters," Tod replied readily. He thrust a warmed robe and slippers at the startled warlock, and then danced away to the table, where he began ladling out some thick porridge.

Merlin blinked at the clothing, then at the table, but finally decided he would be an idiot to not enjoy his good fortune while it lasted. Slipping the warm robe on, he shoved his feet into the slippers and stood. Archimedes gave a sleepy chirrup and swooped away to steal a plump sausage.

"And why am I here?"

"I was given to understand you had become ill in the night, milord," Tod answered, obviously telling the truth. Merlin suspected it had been a bit more than that, however. "Queen Guinevere was most strict in her instructions: you are to eat a full breakfast and then I am to take you to meet with her regarding the location of suitable quarters for your lordship."

"Say that title one more time, and I'll smack you with something," Merlin muttered. It was no wonder Arthur tossed boots and goblets and whatever else he could heft at him when he was so chipper early in the morning!

He firmly pushed down the twinge of grief, dimmed by affection, and turned his attention to the thick, steaming porridge in his bowl. He took an appreciative mouthful and then absently spoke a word, turning the small pot of marmalade into honey to pour on top of his breakfast. Archimedes paused to watch the process with interest, and then went back to eagerly tearing apart the poor abused sausage.

Merlin didn't even realize what he'd done until he looked up to see Tod staring at him with wide eyes.

The spoon clattered back into the bowl. "Sorry," he apologized, realizing that the people had still long distances to go, before they would regard the open use of magic as anything but evil.

"No, milord, do not be," the boy replied, his voice tinged with awe. "To watch the Emrys at work, even in so simple a thing…it is _wonderful_ , milord."

Merlin had by now given up on trying to get the boy to drop the title, but at the words he relaxed, smiling for the first time since he'd woken up in an unfamiliar bed after dreaming all night of terrible, horrible things he had seen and done.

One person, at least, was pleased to see his magic, even in so trivial a thing as transforming food into different forms.

"Would you…like to see something else?" he asked hesitantly, even now, still half-afraid of being rejected as an evil sorcerer.

The boy's eyes shone like stars. "Please, Merlin!"

His smile widened into a grin. "Well, then. _Bebiede þe arisan cwicum_!" As the magic washed over the table, the miniature dragon carved into the wooden platter suddenly shivered, its wings fluttering into life. Tiny questing eyes peered up at them out of the Pendragon insignia as the little dragonette walked a few paces on tiny legs, wings stretching lazily as they shifted from the texture of wood into actual leathery skin. Archimedes hooted with curiosity and swooped down to stare at the little figure – whereupon the dragon snorted a tiny puff of sawdust in his face, and the owl dived backward with a screech of surprise.

Tod's gaze was nothing less than enraptured, and Merlin stuffed a roll in his mouth with a grin. The sweet white bread fairly melted on his tongue, and he recognized the quality of the food from those fairly regular occasions when Arthur would force him to sit down and eat dinner with him under pretense of composing a speech for the council, or at least would make him take the leftovers home at the end of the day; it was the royal food, the finest quality.

He grinned wider and reached to snatch the last sausage before his familiar managed to inhale them all. Perhaps he should stop protesting his newly elevated status _quite_ so much…

* * *

"Let me get this straight – you want to give me a tower."

"Yes."

"As in, a _whole tower_."

"Yes?"

"The whole thing." His hand fluttered in a vague up-and-down gesture. "All of it. To me."

"Yes, Merlin." The Queen's eyebrows had climbed steadily during his disbelieving ramble. "It is rather in disrepair, I admit, but given the nature of your…abilities, I believe you might need some kind of place to work outside of Gaius's cramped chambers?"

"It's a whole tower, Gwen!"

"Merlin, I am not deaf, and I do know what I said," she countered with amusement.

"But – but!" He spluttered for a moment, hands unconsciously fastened in his hair. "What will the council say? You realize you are deeding a part of the castle to a _peasant_?!"

"I would hope, that they would say it is more than well-deserved. Also, we really don't want you experimenting with new spells that close to the inhabited parts of the castle, now that you've the freedom to practice, Merlin. Given your history of…" Gwen cleared her throat. "I mean, Merlin, well…you are not known for your luck…"

The young warlock grinned, entirely unoffended. "I'll have you know I've only _rarely_ blown something up practicing a spell, Gwen."

"And I'd prefer it to be kept that way," she retorted. "Besides, Merlin," she continued, more gently. "If Arthur were here, I know that he would have made you Court Sorcerer or something of that nature; you would be a friend and peer of the court, and possibly a noble. I legally cannot, until I have been monarch for at least a half-year, do such a thing; but this, I can do. To give you chambers for you to furbish as you will, for your own purposes – that is such a small thing in comparison to what Arthur would have done."

Merlin swallowed, dropping his gaze. "You seem far more certain than I of that, Gwen," he said quietly.

"Oh, Merlin." The Queen's eyes glinted with compassion, soft in the cold light of a crisp, cloudy morning. "Long before Camlann, Arthur had been thinking of such a thing."

His head jerked up and he stared at her, eyes wide.

"It was just after we defeated Morgana, after you gave him the sword from the stone," she said softly, well remembering the wonderful, beautiful days which had followed between Morgana's defeat and Gwen's long dreamed-of wedding, a time of love and fear and second chances. "We were preparing for bed one night. Arthur was looking out the window and saw you heading back to Gaius's chambers through the pouring rain – with no cloak, may I add," she scolded, and Merlin repressed a grin at the motherly tendencies already showing through.

"I remember that night," he said with a gentle smile of remembrance. "Gaius was still too weak to be walking about, and so I was half-drowned by the time I made it back that night. Arthur gave me a whole tray of food from his dinner to take back so Gaius could have something softer to eat. Gaius thought I'd stolen it from the kitchens with magic."

Gwen's smile mirrored his. "Arthur talked about you that night, Merlin."

"He did?"

"He did. He told me that he was worried about what would happen to you if Gaius was not around – I think it scared him more than he would admit, what Morgana did while she was in power."

Merlin flinched, for it had frightened him as well, to find his mentor in such frail condition when they had returned. He'd been so grateful to Gwaine for enduring Morgana's games in order to get enough food to keep Gaius alive, he'd actually cried when it was all over – the first time the charismatic young knight had ever seen his young friend shed a tear. Gwaine had been almost more upset than he, Merlin remembered fondly, and had hugged him so hard he squeaked; it had been the most comforting thing anyone had done for him in those terrible days following Morgana's takeover of the throne and Arthur's retaking of it.

"He wanted to set you up with chambers of your own after that last battle, Merlin, somewhere a bit more comfortable than that tiny room of Gaius's," Gwen continued quietly.

"I wouldn't have taken them," he said softly.

"And we both agreed that you wouldn't want them, not at that time," she responded. "But it was his wish that you would have somewhere to go, when Gaius was gone. Even if you were to take over as Court Physician when that time comes, he wanted you to have another option. Let me fulfill that wish, Merlin."

A lump in his throat, Merlin nodded, unable to voice his gratitude to this strong young Queen for her simple yet personal story. No one dared speak of Arthur, it seemed, except to praise his public accomplishments, the gallant way in which he died, to laud his valor and his nobility. It was as if his kingly memory must be hallowed, sacred, already relegated to the stuff of legend and history.

No man dared speak of Arthur's pompous self-confidence, which had always driven Merlin to distraction, or the way he couldn't write a decent speech to save his life (it was basically a given in later years that Merlin would do so for him). No one would ever dream of mentioning how he was messier than a child of ten, and how he still hadn't quite grasped how it was offensive instead of beneficent to bestow enormous amounts of gold on a peasant who had offered shelter to the King of Camelot out of simple love and loyalty. No one would dare to mention how the young King could be pigheadedly stubborn, a trait passed down from father to son, nor how he was quick to judge and slow to trust, due to the number of past betrayals which had wreaked havoc in his kingdom.

No one knew about the night after Gwen's banishment, how the young king had drunk himself into a stupor and proceeded to cry his broken heart out on his servant's shoulder, never remembering the event the next day. No one would recount to said servant how the king's eyes sparkled when Merlin would make some irreverent comment during a council meeting, meant for Arthur's ears only, or how he would order a double breakfast on the coldest of winter mornings and make Merlin eat half of it under pretense of not wasting perfectly good food. Only Gwen knew how Arthur had been appalled to visit Gaius's chambers one bitter winter and find that the physician had only one blanket per bed, and had promptly sent a serving boy around with enough of his old bedclothes to carpet the rooms; and only Merlin knew how Arthur had dismissed two of his knights ostensibly for misappropriation of the royal coffers, but really because they had dared to think they could raise a hand to the King's manservant.

No one spoke of Arthur Pendragon as the gruff friend and kind-hearted man both he and Gwen had been privileged enough to see when no one else was around – and that made their shared memories that much more precious.

"Thank you," he said softly.

The Queen inclined her head graciously. "Do try to not have any more nightmares, though, Merlin," she said with a hint of a smile. "It will not do for the townsfolk to see you blasting holes in the walls of your tower at night."

Merlin's ears flushed in embarrassment. "I haven't done that in _years_ , not without being deathly ill," he muttered. "I'm glad you found me before I froze to death. Gaius would've killed me."

"I'm only surprised that your familiar was able to come fetch me before you froze to death, Merlin." Guinevere frowned slightly, pondering something.

"What is it?"

"It is just…strange."

"What, Archimedes?"

"His behavior, Merlin," she mused. "He sleeps during the night and is awake during the day, but aren't owls normally nocturnal?"

"I've wondered that myself," he replied, shrugging. "I assume it's the fact that he's bonded to me; he just lives a regular human’s day/night cycle instead of his native one. In fact he sleeps so much it's a wonder he's not fat as a Yule duck." A grin creased his lined features. "Actually, he hates being woken up in the mornings. Hissed at Gaius when he came in to wake me before leaving two days ago. Gaius was not best pleased."

Gwen laughed. "He is a cheeky little thing." She offered Merlin a smile as she stood to her feet, swaying slightly to adjust her center of balance. He held the door open for her to pass, watching her with earnest solicitousness.

A sudden puff of golden feathers heralded the arrival of a very miffed Archimedes, who had been shut out of the room due to the fact that he had taken off after a mouse and Merlin couldn't be bothered to wait about for him. The little owl gave a chirrup of indignation and hunched down into a pouting ball of fluff on the warlock's shoulder.

"Archimedes, behave! How would you like to be turned into a toad for a few days?"

Archimedes made a rude noise and decided that the Queen's soft silk-clad shoulder would make a more appealing perch than a bony warlock's. Landing gently, never even snagging a claw on her dress, the little owl cooed and snuggled against her neck, eyeing his master with a look that fairly radiated owlish smugness.

"You little prat," Merlin chuckled, gently stroking his familiar's downy topknot. The little bird chirruped with contentment. "She won't save you, you know." A hoot of dismissal.

"You are not experiencing any illness with your…condition, My Lady?" Merlin asked solemnly, and Guinevere recognized the unconscious reversion to his position as substitute physician in Gaius's absence.

"Not to speak of, no. Thank you for your concern. For both of us," she said with a smile, laying a hand over her abdomen as they moved out into the corridor. "Our child will be fortunate to have you as a mentor, Merlin."

The young warlock fairly beamed. "Can't let the little prince grow up to be a total cabbage-head like his father was, now can I?"

Gwen stifled a giggle at the horrified looks from the guards standing outside, aghast to hear the blatant disrespect to their fallen King.

She didn't, however, bother to hide her laughter when Archimedes gave a disapproving hoot and pecked Merlin's protruding ear.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

As winter approached, so progressed the impending childbirth, much to the joy and delight and (if they were to be honest, those on the receiving end of the Queen’s occasional wrath) fear, of all the inhabitants of Camelot.

Merlin was, in an understatement, delighted; for the babe would be born around Beltane, and to a student of the Old Religion one could not ask for a more portent omen for the child's future. The little one would be born at the time when all the world was being made fresh and new; when the forces of the earth and elements were united in harmony, to bring life and fertility to all living creatures. To be born at such a time was the height of good omen, and it brought joy to his very soul to know that the crown prince – for it was a little prince, he knew in his heart – would be so smiled upon by the gods and the stars.

Merlin had missed the holiday of Samhain by a few weeks, due to his self-imposed exile; and it had been close after that important night that he felt the spirits of the worlds finally at peace, and knew that magic had returned to Camelot. To be permitted celebration of Beltane with free reign of magic in the kingdom – it was nothing less than a dream come true, one that was only dulled by the pain of knowing that his only wish had ever been to stand beside King Arthur Pendragon and light the ceremonial bonfire with his magic, freely and with the king's approval.

But that was a pain now softened by love and dimmed by time, and while it would never fade away – while he would never _want_ it to fade away – it was now less a sharp agony and more a bittersweet heartache.

And now, he had a little prince to anticipate teaching the joys of magic and telling stories of the magnificence of King Arthur.

Gaius mentioned mildly one night, that since Merlin had never had good luck predicting destiny, perhaps he should just be happy if the child were born healthy; but nothing could dampen the young warlock's enthusiasm, and the physician wisely subsided in his objections. Surely, the boy deserved this joy after such a summer and harvest of grief and tragedy.

Gwen did not fully understand his delight at the significance of her child's birth timing, but she knew enough to know that if Merlin was predicting greatness for the child in the stars and signs, then it would be so; for the will of Emrys was intertwined with the elements.

Yet even she, who had grown to knew Merlin better than she ever would have dreamed in the weeks since his return, was nothing less than stunned to hear the first official request the young warlock had ever put to her, a formal appeal for a boon to be granted. She had never heard Merlin ask for reward or even recognition for anything he had done, and so for him to not only make a formal request for audience, but then to attend that audience before the required council and solemnly make his plea known –

She could not help but blink away tears, and she was aware that at least three of the council were doing the same.

"Merlin," she said quietly, feeling more uncomfortable than she ever had before at the sight of the most powerful man in the kingdom kneeling before her inherent throne. "Please…you need not bow, not to me. Not now."

"My lady, it is only proper," the young man answered with perfect solemnity. His blue eyes sparkled with sincerity, and she knew she would never have been able to refuse him ought that he asked – and this! Who was she, to so command the inherited loyalty of the most powerful warlock ever to walk the earth?

"Merlin, are you certain that this is what you wish?" she asked seriously. "In another six sennights, I will have been absolute monarch for the required half-year. You could be a noble, Merlin, as is your right as a Dragonlord under a free Camelot. Do you not wish that?"

"I do not, my Queen," he replied softly. "My allegiance is to Albion, to you, and to the memory of Arthur Pendragon. I wish nothing more than this."

"If that is your wish, Merlin, then I will gladly grant you this boon," she said, formally documenting the decision with a nod to the council scribe. The elderly man smiled, clearly approving, and she saw that even the crotchety Lord Baldwin looked mildly mollified by the idea of such a powerful sorcerer subjugating himself so.

She cared naught for any such politics, however, and so felt no compunction (only a tiny bit of rebellious glee at the slightly horrified looks of the oldest council members) about rising to her feet (slowly, for the babe within her was growing in strength at an alarming rate) and hugging her old friend tightly.

There was an embarrassing squeak, which Merlin indignantly denied ever making, and none of the council ever believed, and she stepped back after a moment with a smile, one hand resting gently over her abdomen. The golden owl which had been silently regarding the proceedings with an alarmingly intense stare flapped his wings unsteadily, hooting his disapproval at his equilibrium being disturbed.

"So let it be noted," Guinevere decreed to the council, formally making the decision legal, "that the royal household service of Merlin, also known as the warlock Emrys, is hereby transferred to the heir apparent."

One of the older council members looked slightly scandalized. "Your majesty, if the child is female –"

"It's not," Merlin said absently, as he scrawled his name on the document the scribe thrust at him.

" _What_?" None dared comment on the fact that the stately queen had apparently not outgrown the commonborn tendency toward some rather uncouth shrieking.

"Oh, sorry," he replied with a grin, sending the scroll dancing through the air back at the scribe's head. The poor man dodged it as if it were a red-hot iron, recovering after a moment and gingerly picking it up from the floor. "Um. Surprise?" Archimedes chuffed with amusement, his little chest puffed out. "Oh shut up, it's not as if you knew."

"Merlin," the queen murmured faintly. "Your magic – it can tell this?"

The young warlock glanced around, seeing the mild curiosity in the eyes of the younger set of nobles and the faint blush of mortification on the faces of the elder at the taboo topic.

"Um. Yes?" he mumbled, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "There is a different sort of…aura, around female and male entities who have been touched by magic, Your Majesty. It's a fundamental principle of magical perception. Otherwise, how would I be able to determine what gender certain magical species are?"

"Wait, you are saying the heir apparent has been _touched by magic_?" Lord Ewin demanded with a look of mounting alarm.

"Magic was woven into the Pendragon lineage even before Arthur's time, Lord Ewin; and the Queen herself has been in close contact with its power, both good and evil. The child which will be born of Arthur and Guinevere Pendragon will indeed know magic, both the good it can bestow and the corruption it can cause," Merlin said solemnly. "This is a new age, honored council members, an enlightened age; and I vow to protect the young prince from all harm both magical and otherwise, as long as there is breath in my body and magic in my veins. Camelot will always be protected, my lords," he continued, his voice ringing eerily in the stillness that had fallen under the oath, "and now that the ban upon magic has been lifted, I believe you will find that I am not the only magic-user in Camelot who will gladly swear upon his life and his magic to protect unto death, the High Queen and the Crown Prince."

A cynical snort sounded from the far end of the table, and Merlin raised an eyebrow, ignoring Archimedes's offended chirp. "You doubt this, Lord Efram?" he asked mildly.

"That those who have for decades hidden in fear of their lives from the effects of the Great Purge, will swear allegiance to the grandson of Uther Pendragon?" the young noble retorted with understandable skepticism. "You, Merlin – all know of your relationship with King Arthur, and your allegiance I can accept without question, having seen the evidence of your loyalty to the King with my own eyes. But others…I find it hard to believe that peace can be reached between our peoples. The damage has been done."

"I believe you will find that the Druids, at least, have for the most part already accepted peace, Lord Efram, as that is all they have ever wished for," Merlin answered, his face softening with earnestness. "Many have moved into Camelot's borders from the countries to which they had formerly fled, and all who have a level of magic capable of defense have sworn allegiance to the Queen – and if not to her, then to me. You have nothing to fear from them, should you do nothing to provoke a breach of trust between us."

"My lords," Guinevere interjected quietly, "this will not happen overnight, I am aware. But we would be foolish to not make an effort to accept this change. Magic will always be used as an instrument of evil, just as a sword in the hand of a mercenary or a poison in the hand of an assassin; just as deadly, but no different from any other weapon. I would hope, my lords," she added pointedly, looking around the table and firmly making eye contact with each, "that as members of the trusted inner council, you will aid me and help Merlin as well, in making the first gestures of peace."

"Perhaps, Your Majesty – and Merlin," Lord Alfric began slowly, "if we were to see more of the good that magic is capable of, rather than only having experience with the corruption it brings…"

There were a few nods and murmurs of assent, and Guinevere turned to Merlin, who was still looking a bit lost after his rash dissertation of diplomacy. He still could scarcely believe he could even speak the word _magic_ openly, much less be asked to perform magic before the royal council!

"Merlin? If we reconvene in a few days' time, could you be prepared to give us such a demonstration?"

"Of course, My Queen," he replied with perfect courtesy. "It would be my pleasure."

But as they say, the best laid plans do go awry, and as it transpired, he did not have to plan a demonstration for the next time the council convened.

* * *

Part of Merlin's new duties as unofficial liaison between the magical community and the commonfolk were to be present at all meetings when any such magic-users were presented to the Queen, or approached her for audience during those weekly sessions of open council with the common people.

During many of these, bands of Druids had come to assure the new High Queen that they had no intention of living in anything but peace with the people of Camelot, and to thank her for lifting the cloud of despair and darkness which had for so long shrouded them in its deathly pall. Guinevere had graciously accepted each of them, group and band and individual, who freely approached and promised allegiance or swore fealty to the crown, and Merlin had stood by, sometimes silent, sometimes accepting the same oath as the unspoken but silently accepted ruler of all Magics.

In retrospect, he should have known that it would not last, and should have been surprised that it lasted as long as it did. But as it stood, he had been distracted by one thing and another, and so when a band of renegade Druids suddenly disclosed the insignia and colours of Morgana Pendragon and surrounded the High Queen with the intent of destroying both heirs to the throne…

Well, that he could have understood, and indeed probably would have let them live, albeit only to hang for high treason and attempted murder.

But when the smoke had cleared, revealing a frightened Gwen staring wide-eyed at the band of Druids from behind the shimmering brilliance of Merlin's shield, one of the sorcerers snarled a spell, a Dark, very Dark spell, which rebounded off the shield and targeted the strongest magical influence in the room – Emrys himself.

Merlin heard the incantation and recognized it as one of the darkest of spells he had never read aloud, in a book even he dared not remove from the sealed library chamber – a twisted perversion of an Old Religion ritual targeting only magic-users, resulting in the victim being literally consumed from the inside as his magic ignited and burned away. The result was inevitable madness, and usually death, only after excruciating pain. He would never be able to maintain a shield around Gwen if that spell were to strike him, unprotected as he was expending all his energy into protecting the Queen and her unborn child. His guard had been down for too long, and he had never thought about warding the castle, much less himself, against the darkest of dark magic.

The hysterical portion of his brain noted absently that the entire council and the castle guards were utterly worthless, for they could apparently only stand around staring as a magical war erupted right in front of them. And where were the knights, who had been training to fight magic-users for weeks now?

The sinuous darkness of the spell sped toward him in a writhing cloud, and he forced one final blast of protective energy into the shield he held over Gwen with both outstretched hands – and then braced himself for the impact of a Dark spell he had no hope of deflecting, not with his Light magic.

But then a tiny ball of golden feathers literally dived in front of him, screeching defiantly at the furious Druid. The spell struck Archimedes squarely before Merlin could even blink or gasp a protest, and he could only watch in helpless horror as his gallant little owl was flung across the room, tumbling head over wings until he struck the wall and fell limply to the ground in a heap of singed feathers.

The Druid paused, obviously mystified by the animal's actions – and then looked up to find himself face to face, nose to nose, with the most powerful warlock in existence.

One whose face was darkened with a fury so intense, so dangerous, that the sorcerer took a step backward in abject fear, not knowing just how he had incurred the destructive wrath of Emrys.

"You know who I am," the warlock spoke, quiet and menacing, and the wall-sconces began to rattle ominously. "I killed the Witch Morgana. I command the Great Dragon. It was I who defeated the High Priestess Nimueh as a mere _child_ – and you _dare_ to believe you can touch that which belongs to me?"

Merlin's eyes flashed, one arm swept out, and without a word spoken the glass in the windows shattered, sending startled councilmen shrieking and diving for cover.

“Let this be a lesson to anyone with or without magic.” The ground shook slightly, as the elements responded in kind. “ _You will hear me_. Camelot. Is. _Protected_.”

The shield around the Queen and heir apparent glowed with a golden brilliance, a barrier from the sudden gale of wind which swept through the room in tornadic destruction, picking up the band of renegade followers of Morgana and tossing them through the air as if they were nothing more than straw effigies. A wave of his hand sent the storm through the broken window and across the land, where it would deposit them, in pain but alive, in the middle of the woods at the edge of the kingdom.

The Druid who had cast the Dark spell, however, barely had time to realize he had made the biggest mistake of his life, before Emrys unleashed the power of the elements in a streak of deadly lightning.

Then, as quickly as the storm had whipped up, it stopped. The wind ceased, the lightning retreated, the thunder fell silent.

Merlin glanced at the glass-strewn ground, and murmured a spell, eyes flashing golden in the dim light. In a matter of moments, the beautiful colored glasswork had been restored to its original state, pristine and gleaming.

The shield around the terrified Queen suddenly faded to a soft bluish light, and then disappeared altogether.

The council members crept out from behind various pieces of furniture, most of them staring open-mouthed at the scorched streak on the floor where the sorcerer had stood and reeling at the sheer power that had just been unleashed from a boy they'd grown to see as nothing more than a clumsy fool whom King Arthur was unhealthily fond of.

And Merlin's face crumpled as he stood again, a tawny owl held tenderly in his arms.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

"See to the Queen," Merlin barked sharply, and before they realized they were taking orders from a mere servant most of the council had jumped to obey.

Lord Alfric hesitated long enough to give orders to the group of guards who had burst in to see what the commotion had been, and finally walked over to the distraught young sorcerer he'd grown to be quite fascinated by in the last few weeks.

"Merlin," he said quietly. Archimedes twitched, giving a faint meep of distress. Though the little bird's eyes remained closed, the noble breathed a sigh of relief that the owl was still alive at least. "Gaius is an exemplary physician, even for animals…or are you able to perform that kind of magic? Healing magic, is it?"

"I've never been able to master more than the most basic of healing spells, with the exception of one poison absorbing spell, milord," the young warlock whispered, hanging his head. "They are the most difficult of all magics to master, and they are a different type of magic than that which is natural for me. I seem to be destined less for that which is good in magic, and more for that which is destructive..."

"Well, I won't argue that point," Alfric said sensibly, casting a pointed eye on the scorch mark. "But that's not a bad thing, you know? Considering that this lot were all but useless just now." He gestured with self-deprecating derision at the sheepish council, who were just starting to give the Queen some space. Gwen was sitting on her throne, which happened to be the closest seat, breathing heavily and still looking scared to death, but completely unharmed. "I take it that was a shield of some kind you conjured for Her Majesty?"

As he'd hoped, the honest question about the magic seemed to lessen the tension around the young warlock's eyes, and Merlin smiled briefly. "It was, Lord Alfric. One thing I became very good at, through years of trying to keep Prince and King Arthur out of trouble. Frankly, that’s the first time I’ve cast that spell so openly, so it was probably a little more powerful than it needed to be, as I was panicking a bit."

The little bird in his arms suddenly began to tremble, and Merlin paled, cuddling the owl closer. "I don't understand how he's even still alive," he murmured, trying valiantly to not give in to the tears that threatened to fall. Surely, Fate would not be so cruel? He had already lost so much. "That was a dark magic, a spell designed to kill a creature of magic, kill them horribly and in immense pain. If Archimedes really is my familiar he should be at least in part, a magical creature – he should be dead now.”

"Perhaps it was only meant for a human," Alfric suggested, glad to hear that the valiant little bird was at least still hanging on.

By this time, Guinevere had shaken off the bevy of guards and nobles with her stubborn strength of character and now approached, walking steadily though still looking quite shaken at the averted danger. Alfric nodded in deference and silently bowed away, leaving the two together with their little fallen friend.

"Merlin," she said softly, stroking Archimedes's limp head. The little bird chirped faintly, warming her worried heart, but his eyes remained closed, body limp in Merlin's arms. "Thank you. I've never seen anything like that…"

"Only because I've never been able to do it before an audience," he replied wearily. "It was really nothing, Gwen."

"You are so powerful," she murmured. "Why do you still serve us?”

"Because it is my Destiny," he answered simply, though his eyes grew sad. "And I wish no other."

Gwen was wise enough to drop the subject, but kept the words close in her heart. "How is Archimedes?"

"I don't know." Biting his lip, Merlin closed his eyes and tried to send a tendril of healing magic circling his familiar's head – but with no success. He simply was not adept at those types of magics. "Still alive, but…Gwen, that spell was so Dark –"

"Well, if he is still alive, and the spell was designed to kill, then that must be a good sign?"

"Yes," he whispered, praying it was so.

"Do you think Gaius will be able to do anything?"

"Without knowing what exactly the spell did…" he swallowed, and turned to leave, the shivering owl held tightly in his arms. "I don't know, Gwen."

* * *

"Merlin, you would know better than I –"

" _Gaius_!"

"Calm down, my boy," the physician said kindly, pushing his disturbed young ward down into the closest chair with a firm hand. "I merely meant, Merlin, that you are by far the expert in magical maladies, by this time. You say the spell was meant to target a magical creature?"

"Meant to _kill_ a magical creature, painfully, after first driving them mad from pain." Merlin worried at his lower lip as the limp bundle of feathers was placed gently on a soft blanket on the table. "If he is truly a creature of magic he should be dead, Gaius."

"And yet he is not," the old man mused thoughtfully. "That is rather unusual, if what you say is true."

"I've never seen him display any magical ability, I just thought that if he was my familiar…"

"Perhaps, Merlin," Gaius said carefully, "some of your own resistance to such Dark magics has simply been extended to him, as your familiar."

"Or else my immortality has," the young man muttered with a venom Gaius had rarely heard before.

The physician winced, for it was a topic he was still hoping that Merlin was incorrect regarding – but the young warlock seemed convinced he was indeed immortal, and would be left to walk the earth alone, only aging gradually, until Albion's need became so great that Arthur rose again to return to the land. Where Merlin had got this impression, Gaius was uncertain; he only hoped it was a mistaken impression and not a true prophecy – for the boy's sake, for Merlin deserved far better from an unkind Fate.

Gaius examined the tiny owl as best he could, but finally looked up with an air of helplessness. "Merlin, no bones are broken that I am able to tell, despite the force with which you say he struck the wall. I do not know what to do to help him, if there is an unseen magical injury at work here."

"Gaius, please…he's all I have –"

"Merlin," he remonstrated gently, laying a hand on the young man's shaking shoulder. "It might simply be that Archimedes is still weak from the force of the spell. If he is not a creature of magic as we thought, then the spell would merely have stunned him, not killed him; and as he is still alive when he should not be, then that idea would seem to have some merit."

Blue eyes glinted at him hopefully. "Then you think he might be all right?"

"I think it more likely than you are giving yourself hope for," Gaius returned quietly. "He is a sturdy little bird, and he loves you dearly. The bond between a sorcerer and his familiar is strong, whether enhanced magically or not. I see no reason not to hope that he is merely weakened from his sacrifice; for if he is still alive, then the chances are greater that he will remain so."

Merlin tenderly rucked up the soft blanket around his unconscious familiar so that it propped the little owl up warmly on all sides, then dropped his head onto his crooked elbow on the table.

"Was the Queen unharmed, Merlin?" Gaius asked gently.

"I think she was fine," the young man murmured tiredly. "I worry, though, Gaius…what if there are more out there, who do not like the idea of a crown prince being born so soon after Arthur's death? How will I be able to protect them and still remain a peacemaker between magic-users and the nobility?"

"Merlin, I asked many times through the years how you could possibly protect such a rash young man as the previous Crown Prince without losing your head – literally – and without losing your spirit of compassion and good-nature," Gaius replied kindly. "You answered that despite my foolish misgivings, to the very end. I do not see any reason for you to doubt yourself now."

A thin, trembling finger reached out to stroke the slightly singed plumage that poked up through the folds of blanket. "You have always had far too much faith in me, Gaius."

"And on that, we will always disagree, my boy." A warm smile, and the elderly man draped a blanket around his charge's weary shoulders. "If you must remain here in vigil over that little menace, at least get some rest. I must attend to the Queen, and make my rounds of the lower town. If you require me, do not hesitate to send one of the knights to find me."

Merlin nodded, head still pillowed on his crooked arm, fingers still absently petting the limp tuft of feathers that was his familiar's unconscious head.

He woke up five hours later to realize that the little bird was returning the favor, perched with an air of total smugness on his ear and nibbling mischievously on his hair, apparently quite recovered and rather proud of the fact.

And if the people of the town and castle wondered why the clouds suddenly vanished and the sun shone brightly in the middle of the evening…well.

Stranger things had certainly happened in Camelot.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

Word traveled quickly, and before long Merlin discovered that his impromptu, if relatively quick, battle in the royal courtroom was the talk of the city as well as the castle. Most regarded the tale with skepticism, which was surely understandable enough, but there were those who now regarded him with fear, never having seen his magic at work before and still disbelieving of the fact that he had hidden in plain sight for so many years.

Merlin accepted all this with equanimity, for he had long ago learned to accept that which he could not change, and simply set about doing his best to alleviate all fears and doubts in the people's minds by helping them to prepare for the coming winter. Frosty mornings would see him in the company of Gaius, visiting the ill and ailing with tonics to stave off winter colds and illnesses, while the afternoons and evenings were spent in training with the knights and socializing around the town, stopping to tell a story to a group of children here, pausing to help groom a horse there, and generally attempting to prove to the people that he was still the same man he had always been.

Gaius had understood his need for regular work, for though Merlin had promised his service to the unborn crown prince he was yet a bit aimlessly wandering just at the moment, naught required of him but the occasional council meeting and a fairly regular hearing of grievances in the public court. The court physician had begun to teach his ward even more about medicine in earnest, for he knew he would not be around forever, and that Merlin really did need to learn more about practical and non-magical healing if his magic indeed were never going to truly be strong in that area.

And so the days passed, harvest into winter, until the approaching Yule season began to lighten the load of grief under which the kingdom was still reeling. Queen Guinevere had invited the rulers of the five united kingdoms and their surrounding allies to celebrate the holiday season in Camelot, as a celebration of their unity and a symbol of goodwill, and while several of the monarchs had declined for various reasons, Merlin was secretly pleased to learn that the newly-crowned Queen Mithian had been able to accept the invitation. After her father's death in battle not long after Morgana's attempt to use the princess and King Rodor to overthrow Camelot and kill Arthur, Mithian had become a cautious but powerful ally, and even more so now that the two kingdoms of Camelot and Nemeth were ruled by very strong-willed single queens.

Gwen had always been fond of the young woman, despite knowing of Mithian's original intent years back to unknowingly oust her in Arthur's heart, and even more so after what Morgana had done to the girl – and Merlin had liked her from the beginning, despite the same reason. It was not an easy thing to recover from such an enchantment, he well knew, and spoke to true strength of inner character. The unification of Albion had been a boon to the land, for now they could celebrate the first Yule season of true peace across the kingdoms. A feast of prosperity and happiness was held in the heart of Camelot, and for the first time the land rejoiced in the memory of the past and the hope for the future.

Yule was a special time for Merlin, even more so than the Solstice Festival; for while the latter called to him as a creature of the Old Religion, the former dated back to his peasant roots, and the pleasant memories associated with childhood and then his early, carefree days in Camelot, before Morgana had become Dark and Arthur lost so much that was dear to him.

And so he helped in the preparations for the holidays willingly, pleased to see more and more that he was being requested to use his magic openly, even for so trivial a thing as safely lifting decorations to the vaulted ceilings of the Great Hall. Guinevere's eyes sparkled with happiness born of love for her unborn child and a pain of loss diminished by time; she was now very obviously well into her expectancy, and despite the occasional bursts of tears at awkward moments seemed to be in fine spirits and health.

"You are looking so well, Gwen!" Mithian had exclaimed with girlish enthusiasm upon their first meeting, whereupon the expecting queen had laughingly replied that she rather thought she was looking like an overfed pony. Merlin privately thought Gwen could not be more beautiful, and it warmed his heart to see that she appeared every inch the High Queen.

Archimedes, evidently tired of the widespread sentimentality, was finally banished from the kitchens by a very irate Mary, after his third time of being caught stealing a currant bun; he then decided to make a nuisance of himself fluttering about the candelabras and sprigs of mistletoe being arranged about the room, chirping bossily when they did not meet his approval until Merlin finally shooed him away from the decorations with a magically-levitated holly bough.

The warlock was stealth-attacked by an indignant golden blur a moment later, much to the amusement of the servants whose work he was overseeing. Laughing tales were told around the kitchen fires that night, stories of King Arthur's former manservant and the most powerful sorcerer in the kingdom being chased out of the Great Hall by a tiny owl gleefully clutching two stolen oranges in his talons.

It was, truly, a season of comfort and joy.

 _If only Arthur could have been present to see it_ , was the only thought marring the peace that flooded the hearts of the castle's inhabitants, especially that of one lonely young warlock who silently bowed out of the Yule Eve celebrations unnoticed.

Archimedes having long since flown away, no doubt in search of dinner or some mischief to cause, Merlin's lonely steps slowed outside the now disused royal chambers (Gwen had moved after Arthur's death into her separate royal chambers, for reasons of her own, and none had dared use these rooms since), and paused for a moment outside the stately door that had belonged to his king. He absently traced a dent in the sturdy oak, fondly recollecting the day Arthur had playfully (for him, at least, the great prat) thrown a shield at his head and missed. Uther had not been best pleased at the scratch left behind by the impact.

Memories flooded his mind, too many to be numbered. Mornings spent dragging the sheets off a grumpy, arrogant boy-prince in those so very early days, avoiding or at least trying to avoid being kicked in the face for his pains. Preparing the prince and then, later, the Prince Regent for the day, a time strangely intimate despite the air of professionalism he had always, even in later years, kept for the sake of propriety. It had been during those strangely close minutes each morning and evening that the young prince had voiced his greatest fears and insecurities to the inside of his tunics, safe from censure and prying eyes that expected flawless judgment from the crown prince and regent. It had been during those times Arthur had confessed his misgivings about his ability to rule, his impossible love for Guinevere, his inability to stand up to the men who expected him to be his father – all that and more, had been murmured into nothingness as Merlin silently dressed him for the day, and he had never spoken a word that had not been asked for during those crucial times for the young prince. He had become servant, friend and confidante, though there had been times, especially in the early days, when that journey had not been easy.

Later, when Arthur had been king and had taken some of Merlin's more onerous tasks from him as befitted his new status as the king's personal servant (he was not at all sad to see mucking the stables fall to the regular stable hands again), Arthur had still insisted upon being prepared for the day and night by him – and they both knew the reason for it.

Merlin unsealed the door with a soft spell, and then nudged the sturdy wood open amid a creak of disused hinges. The antechamber where he had begun sleeping on occasion after Arthur's ascent of the throne greeted him like a long-lost friend, almost magically free from the smell of must and damp. A smile curved his lips when he remembered the first Yule after Arthur had been crowned, when the King had hemmed and hawed awkwardly in the antechamber doorway for the better part of an hour before finally throwing a soft package at his head and storming out in embarrassment. Utterly taken aback, Merlin had opened it to find a very nice coat for the upcoming winter, obviously commissioned specifically for him as it was brand-new and fit to perfection, the pockets of which had held a pair of gloves lined with rabbit fur – possibly the finest clothing he had ever possessed in his life, and far more expensive than he would ever really need. An actual, thoughtful gift from the new King, one that was not secondhand or something which was expected of the nobility toward their servants.

He then laughed wetly, remembering this time last Yule, when Arthur had given him the gift of a week off to visit Ealdor and then none too gently suggested he sleep elsewhere than the antechamber because the King and Queen would be – awkward coughing – otherwise engaged that night in a Yule celebration of their own.

After closing the outer door behind him, he moved from the antechamber to the royal sleeping chamber, silently dashing away a tear that had sneaked out of the corner of his eye unheeded.

Arthur's royal bed stood as it always had, pristine and made up to perfection, the room in a state of disturbing spotlessness. Merlin didn't know who had put away the King's things after Camlann, for his whereabouts at the time had been unknown; but he out of reflex moved to the wardrobe to check that all was where it should be. Arthur was most particular about how his armor was stored, how his tunics were arranged, despite the fact that the idiot couldn't even dress himself or manage to leave his socks in one pile on the floor instead of strewn about everywhere…

He belatedly realized, halfway through muttering about George's ineptitude and rearranging the contents of the wardrobe, that there was actually no need for him to put things to rights.

It was not as if Arthur would ever again care if his red tunic was folded against the creases, or if his chain mail was kinked along the hem from being hastily thrown onto the wardrobe's body form...

And it was that sudden, sickening realization, a blow straight to the heart, that made him slide slowly to the floor with his back against the royal bedpost, face buried in his updrawn knees. And for the first time since the Old Religion calmed around him at the Lake of Avalon, Merlin wept bitterly for a future he would never see, for the king he would never be able to kneel before and swear fealty to, as a sorcerer under a free Camelot.

* * *

There are ancient legends, old as the Old Religion itself, which speak of the spirits that walk the earth at times when the veil between the worlds is thinnest; legends of strange and wonderful things happening at certain times of the year, such as Yule and Samhain and other beautiful and terrible holidays; tales of spirits both good and evil who appear to those with the Sight and warn of things to come, leave blessings for things which have been. They are not to be feared save by those who treated them badly in life; for they are a magic as deep and sacred as the earth's itself.

And if Emrys had been just a bit less lonely that Yule Eve night, had not wept until so exhausted that he fell asleep wedged between the wardrobe and the bed, he might have felt the ghostly hand that carded gently through his hair, the ethereal flutter of a scarlet cloak that fell to cover him while he slept.

But he never knew, and so only wondered sleepily in the light of a frosty Yule morning, how in the world his little owl had somehow managed to find his way into a locked room during the night, and was now perched impertinently on one of Arthur's bedposts.

Almost as if he _owned_ the place...


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story technically ended with the previous chapter; however, for those of you who wanted a less ambiguous and more emotional ending, there is this tidbit. Thank you very much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

**Epilogue**

_Four months later_

In the end, he gave in.

It was not that he did not want to do it; contrarily, he wanted it more than anything. But he knew his own power enough to know how dangerous such an act was; how far it might put him down the path of Darkness. How easy it would be to look back, to destroy everything in his foolish desire, how unfair it was to take the chance away from the expecting queen, how easily he might be tempted to do the Unthinkable as Morgana herself had done to such souls as Lancelot. He knew how dangerous it would be for a mortal to attempt it – and how much more manifold that danger would be for he, Emrys, to so make the attempt which before had been breached by none other than the High Priestesses of the Old Religion, and once by Arthur Pendragon.

But in the end, he gave in.

Arthur had hidden the Horn of Cathbhadh not in the magical vaults under the castle, but in a never-used guest chamber within the castle walls. It had actually been Merlin's idea, for where better to hide an object one wishes to never fall into the wrong hands than in plain sight, as if it were nothing more than a common knick-knack? After banishing Uther's spirit from the world of the living, he and Arthur had placed the horn in the chamber on an unassuming wooden shelf, and Arthur had given him the key to the chamber, the only copy of which they then remanded to the vaults.

Arthur had wanted nothing more to do with the Horn, and Merlin could not blame him. It was meant as a gift, a tool to be used for good and for comfort, and because of the king's mistake in looking back as the Veil between the worlds closed, it had turned into an otherworldly nightmare that nearly cost the lives of the people he loved.

But that had never been the intention of the Horn's usage. It had been meant as a tool of comfort, of communion between the worlds, on this most sacred and blessed of nights, Beltane – when the Veil was at its thinnest, and when the spirits returned to walk the earth and bless it with fertility and life. It had been a gift to Arthur, one given in the spirit of the Horn; that of comfort and of blessing. And in Arthur's hands, it had given that, however temporarily.

But in his hands…in the hands of Emrys, would it be so? Dare he use the Horn, knowing the potential sacrilege the Old Religion might consider it? Could he risk the consequences, the temptation of Dark Arts, the allure of having power over the Otherworld? The Old Religion had accepted him after his vanquishing of Nimueh, and the circle had closed around him when he killed Morgana – but would it respond favorably to his using such a tool for selfish purposes?

More personally, should he not offer this to Guinevere, who had not even had a chance to say goodbye to the king and husband she had loved so deeply? But the Queen was heavily with child, and unable to make such a journey as to the Stones of Nemeton; that in itself was reason enough to not mention his intent.

And then, Aedan Pendragon had decided to defy his elders and arrived in the world a week early, which would give them more than enough time to reach the Great Stones by sundown on Beltane. And so it was, that after much heart-searching, Merlin offered the Horn of Cathbhadh to the High Queen and her newborn son.

Gwen listened in silence, her eyes softening with tears, as Merlin explained in careful detail the history and purpose of the sacred Horn, and what had happened when last it was used. Arthur had not told her of his mistake in summoning the spirit of his father, and she now understood why both he and Merlin had acted so strangely during that time, and why they had kept her in the dark about the true nature of those traumatic events.

"Is it such a good idea, Merlin, to so awaken the spirits of those who have passed on?" she asked seriously. "Is it not better to leave them to rest?"

Merlin bit his lip, turning the horn over uneasily in his hands. "The purpose of this Horn, is a beneficial one, Gwen. It is Light magic, designed to heal wounds of the heart or soul. The ritual Morgause performed to resurrect Ygraine, and what Morgana did to bring back Lancelot…" One of his first confessions had been to reassure Gwen that her betrayal of Arthur years before had been heavily influenced by enchantment. "…That is the darkest of all magics. Yet the line between such arts is thin, I will not lie to you."

"Merlin…" The Queen looked down at the sleeping babe cradled tenderly in her arms, and sighed. Finally she lifted her gaze, and Merlin saw something akin to compassion in them. "I am not prepared for such a thing," she said simply. "Not now. Perhaps not ever. It is…still too much, too quickly, Merlin. But I thank you for your gift."

He nodded, understanding that Gwen was still endeavoring to accept things which he had lived with for decades, and that she was trying to shift her focus from the recent past onto the future, as the powerful queen he knew she was destined to be.

"And if you wish to go, and take the Horn to the Great Stones…Merlin, I believe you should do what you feel you need, to heal," she said quietly, her heart going out to the young warlock who had seen so much grief in so little time. "You have my blessing, if that is your wish. And please, keep the Horn safe – for my son may at one time wish to meet his father."

Merlin acquiesced with a silent bow, and left the room without another word, looking old beyond his years. He still held the Horn with a respectful wariness that assured the queen both as to his healthy fear of such arts, but also his still deep heartbreak over a fractured destiny he had been unable to prevent. And when she heard the next morning that the court representative for magic-users had left during the night, telling the stable boy he was departing on a quest, she only sent a prayer after him that he would find the peace he sought.

* * *

Beltane and all its festivities came and went, and still Merlin did not return.

The Queen devoted her time to taking back the matters of state which she had turned over to advisors during the last few weeks of her confinement, and the rest was spent in showering the little prince Aedan with all the affection that two parents would have, had Arthur still been alive. The infant could not be more perfect, even in her admittedly prejudiced eye, for he was sweet-tempered and spirited, continually joyous and curious about the world around him. What time she had left after all this was spent in caring for Archimedes, who for the first time had been left behind by his master; and judging from the moodiness of the bird, and the amount of moulting taking place all over Gaius's chambers, the little owl was Not Happy about the fact.

An entire fortnight passed, ten days longer than it should have taken for Merlin to return from his short journey – and then, one rainy night, as she sat in the little prince's chambers, reading quietly while Aedan napped under the watchful eye of Archimedes, the sound of a horse and rider approaching drew her to the window. Looking down, she saw a familiar blue cloak and white horse canter to a stop in the courtyard, and a dark figure handed the reins over to an eager servant.

Merlin tilted his head back against the rain to look up at her window, and her heart broke for the empty, desolate expression on his face.

"He didn't come," he half-sobbed into her shoulder a few minutes later, as she sent for servants to bank up the fire and bring dry clothes for her drenched friend. "It didn't work, Gwen. He wasn't there."

* * *

"I don't understand," he said hollowly, staring into the fire as if he could see his future in the glowing embers. "Of all people, it should have worked for me."

"Did you see anyone at all?" she asked gently.

A thick swallow, and Merlin hung his head. "That – that is the problem, Gwen," he whispered hoarsely. "I saw _everyone_."

"What do you…oh, Merlin."

" _Everyone_ , Gwen. The Horn works, oh yes, it definitely works!" Vaulting to his feet, the young man grasped his hair with both hands, eyes wide with pain and grief. "I didn't stop to think that my power might summon the whole _otherworld_ , not just the one person I wanted to see! Everyone who has died because of my magic, Gwen – it showed me _all_ of them. You still do not know the mistakes I have made, the death that has followed me over the last ten years – and it showed me every single one."

"But the Horn is meant to comfort, you said!"

"And it did! Gwen, it was…" Merlin swallowed, shook his head wordlessly. "Do you know how many people I have never gotten the chance to ask forgiveness of, Gwen? You have no idea the harm I have caused, the lives that have been lost because of me – Lancelot…Elyan…now Gwaine! Had I been quicker, more powerful, more experienced –"

"Merlin." A gentle hand interrupted his increasing distress. "None of them would have dreamt of blaming you. You must know that."

"But I needed to _hear_ it, Gwen!" Merlin fell back into his chair with an air of utter weariness. "And that is what makes it that much more terrible.”

"What does?"

"They were all there, Gwen – and all of them said they forgave me for not being good enough, for not trusting them with my secrets, for _everything_." The young warlock buried his face in his hands with a choked sob, "…all of them, except for Arthur. Why wasn't he _there_?"

* * *

A gentle spring rain faded into warm sunlight as he neared the shores of the Lake of Avalon, neatly contrasting the grief in his heart which had only increased as he neared that place of sacred magic.

He had pinned so many hopes on the Horn, and he was still grateful to the goddesses of the Old Religion for the chance to say goodbye at long last to friends long gone. Lancelot and Gwaine's forgiveness was a forgone conclusion, he knew the two well enough to know that much. Both had died giving both him and Arthur a chance at life – and while he had not needed to hear their kind voices to tell him that it had been welcome nonetheless.

He had not seen Freya among the spirits which had appeared at his summons, but something told him that was due to her special bond with the Sidhe and the powerful magic which surrounded the Lake of Avalon. Freya was special, and he trusted no other to guard Excalibur until Arthur's return (however many centuries in the future that might be) or until Aedan might be trusted with the magical weapon; it was no surprise to him that he could not summon such a unique being as Freya in so crude a method as by using the Horn of Cathbhadh.

At first he had hypothesized that Arthur had not shown at the Great Stones because, like Freya, he had been committed to the Lake of Avalon and the magic was preventing it – but then Lancelot had come, and effectively dashed that theory into pieces, leaving only the knowledge that the one man whose forgiveness he craved and whose voice he wanted so badly to hear, just one more time –

That was the one person who had never appeared when he summoned the spirits he desired to commune with. And he, Emrys, had command over that world as the remaining champion of the Old Religion; if Arthur had not appeared when Emrys summoned, then the only remaining explanation was that the King did not wish to extend forgiveness or speak with him.

He dismounted unsteadily and fell to his knees on the shore of the Lake, staring out over the sunlit waves and mysteriously fog-swept center, looking with increasingly blurry vision at the terrible place where he had committed three of the people he loved most to rest under the protection of the most powerful of Old Magics.

Beltane had long passed, and the Veil between the worlds had closed until it would again thin at Samhain. Any chance he might have had at finally finding absolution from Arthur's death had disappeared along with the Otherworld. He would not dare to use the Horn again, in fact would have destroyed it had he not promised Gwen the chance to allow the prince to use it when he was old enough.

"Why?" he shouted finally, the wound in his soul finally tearing open, raw with grief. The pain in his words fell into the wind and was swept away over the softly-lapping waves; and he was not even certain whom he thought he was talking to, for the Sidhe were by no means his friends. "Why couldn't I summon him?" he cried, louder this time. "After all this, after all I've lost - can you not at least tell me _why_?"

A distant peal of thunder was his only answer, and his eyes filled with frustrated tears which he refused to let fall. Bracing his hands on the soft grass, he let his head hang between his shoulders in dejection; for he felt no answer from the Old Religion. Even the earth itself, thrumming with magic beneath his hands, seemed too at peace to pay his troubled soul any mind.

Then

Something changed; he felt the transition, the sudden startling hum of magic filling his senses, enveloping him in a welcoming, warming sensation of pure, chaste power – and he looked up, blinking his vision clear, to see a whirlwind of clear water spiraling into existence before him in the Lake.

Bolting to his feet, he waded clumsily into the water, heart pounding in his chest, and halted in front of the whirlwind, which was slowly calming into a shimmering wave of water, a neverending cascade that partially obscured the slim figure beneath it.

"Merlin," the musical voice said, in unmistakable fondness. "You really must learn to scry properly, so that we need not use such drastic measures to speak. It is unbecoming of a warlock with such power."

"Freya.” He smiled through water that was not-quite tears.

"You are troubled, Merlin; the entire world of Avalon could feel your heartache from where you knelt," she said gently. "Such we have not felt since you first committed your King to our care, nine of your lunar cycles ago. Why have you returned here, now, these months later, to voice your grief?"

And so, standing in tepid water up to his waist, Merlin poured out his story to the one and only girl he had ever truly fallen in love with, back when he had been so young and delusional, and thought that true love was eternal and pure and innocent and that nothing could part him from it.

Freya listened, barred from touching or comforting him by the water barrier – for it would never do to draw such a powerful warlock into physical contact with the Otherworld – and finally, when he had trailed off to a miserable stop, she smiled. A sad, knowing smile, one which was not at all mocking but rather full of compassion.

"Merlin. There is a very good reason why your King did not appear to you," she said directly.

Merlin's head jerked up, eyes flashing in the sunlight. "There is?"

"Indeed there is."

"Tell me, Freya. _Please_." He cared not if he, the most powerful warlock in history, was overheard by the equally powerful Sidhe, begging on his knees (or as close as he could get, standing in water that deep) for this one favor.

"Oh, Merlin." A soft sprinkle of warm droplets caressed his upturned face, in lieu of a hand stroking his hair. "Your King's spirit could not be summoned with the Horn of Cathbhadh, nor with any other such instrument."

"Could not?" Merlin's eyes narrowed. "As in, it was not possible?"

"That is correct." Freya's eyes softened as she looked at the pain evident on the young man's face. "His spirit could not be summoned by such mortal means, nor by immortal means – because his spirit is not in the Otherworld, Merlin."

Merlin blinked slowly for a moment, processing this. "You mean, because of the prophecy about his return someday, his spirit hasn't been allowed to pass on yet to rest in peace?" he asked incredulously, for that was a harsh punishment indeed, and unheard of for spirits who had done so much Good in their lifetimes.

"That is part of it, yes," she agreed, smiling an odd sort of secret smile. "But only part, Merlin."

"Then what is the rest of it?"

"Merlin. Arthur's death was destined, prophesied, and foretold; it could not be changed, no matter what you attempted in an effort to avert it. Both Pendragon children were required to die, to balance the scales so deeply unsettled by Uther's mad hatred. The prophecies about Camelot’s golden age never mandated that Arthur be present to see this come to pass; only that he be the reason for it – and that is what has happened. You have not failed in your Destiny, Merlin; it is simply that your destiny was never what you believed it to be. Your time will come, in the centuries ahead, but for now, you have brought the prophecies to pass as they were always going to be. This is little comfort, I know."

“Very little,” he replied bitterly.

"You felt this to be true, Merlin," she reminded him kindly. "The day the scales were balanced, and the day Magic came to rest in peace – you were here, on these sacred shores, and you felt it within yourself. The King and the Witch _both_ had to fall, so that the balance of Life which is demanded by the Old Religion might find justice from both sides."

"I felt it," he agreed slowly. "But…what's that got to do with Arthur not being at rest?"

"Simply this." Freya smiled through the wall of shimmering water at him, and he felt the warmth of her affection fill his magic with love and comfort. "The Old Religion is not ignorant of your pain, Emrys, the wounded soul within you at the fulfillment of your Destiny. And you, Emrys – the Immortal One – you will have a lonely road to walk in the many years, centuries even, ahead."

Merlin's face paled, for to hear his suspicions confirmed in such a way, however gentle, was not at all pleasant. The idea of being immortal frightened him worse than anything he had ever faced; and to know he must live all those years alone, waiting for Arthur to return to Albion, while everyone he knew and loved died around him…

"Merlin," the voice of his former love chided him gently. "As I said, the Old Religion knows this, and they would not see you walk that road alone."

"I don't understand," he whispered hoarsely.

"You will, in time," she said, smiling down at him. "Think back, Merlin; cast your memory back nine months and look – truly look – at what was gifted you at that time, when your heartbreak was most severe, when your grief was most encompassing."

Merlin frowned, his dark brows clenched in contemplation.

Then he looked up, skepticism obvious on his face. "I already know about Archimedes," he said. "And don't think I'm not grateful for a familiar, Freya –"

The woman's musical laughter interrupted him with gentle finesse, and he blinked. "Oh, Merlin. For all your power, you are yet unable to See that which is the most important to you. Merlin, Arthur's spirit could not be summoned to you at the Great Stones of Nemeton because _he is not there_."

A faint light of comprehension began to slowly creep into the young warlock's grief-lined face.

"Yes. He is already with you, Merlin," she added quietly. "As it is impossible to separate two side of a coin; so it is impossible for Magic itself to permit Emrys to walk the centuries alone. None could be so cruel to one so undeserving."

"You…you mean…"

"You will never be alone as Time passes, Merlin," Freya said, her light voice tinged with love and affection. "All that was Good about Arthur Pendragon – his loyalty, his courage, his search for Truth, his ability to forgive, his capacity to love – in some form, in some fashion, he will always be with you."

Had Merlin been on dry land, he would have sat down with a thump, stunned at this revelation and then wondering how he had not seen it before this; but he could not, and so only stared at his Lady with dawning comprehension.

Freya's lovely smile shone down upon him. "And whether that form is that of a little owl, or something else entirely in the centuries to come – he will always find you, and you will always know. The Old Religion has so decreed it, Merlin."

Merlin closed his eyes, reeling from this revelation. A thousand and one things flashed through his mind in rapid succession, each proving the truth of her statement clearly – how had he not seen it before now? Finally he opened them again with a slight gasp, tears this time of joy shining in his eyes.

Then, behind them, an annoyed hoot sounded from the shore of the Lake, echoing strangely in the stillness.

Freya smiled. "You set out on a quest without your familiar, Emrys," she chided him fondly. "I daresay he is not pleased."

Merlin gave a laugh that was half a sob, and stretched out both hands to rest just on the surface of the wave which served as a barrier between their worlds. "I can never thank you enough, Freya," he whispered.

"I too, will always be with you, Merlin," she replied with a soft smile, and a slim hand came up to mirror the position on the other side of the water. "No one who has ever been loved, ever truly dies; remember this, and _live_ , my love."

And without the painfulness of a farewell, she gave him one last smile, and suddenly the wave began once more to twist into a whirling cascade of foam and spray as it slowly slid back below the surface of the lake. For a moment Merlin stood, looking out over the calm waters, and then with a sad smile turned and splashed his way awkwardly back to shore.

A golden blur swooped down out of the air and landed gracefully on his shoulder, chirruping his disapproval. Merlin's laugh broke the silence around the sacred lake, and he plucked the little bird off his shoulder, holding him at eye level.

"Are you really in there somewhere?" he wondered aloud, staring into the tiny owl's startled expression.

Archimedes huffily puffed out his feathers.

And then rolled his eyes.

* * *

There are legends that speak of those blessed – or cursed – with immortality; stories both fascinating and terrifying, of those few whom Fate has chosen for a purpose that transcends Death itself. To walk alone throughout the bounds of Time is no light matter, and is not an undertaking for the fainthearted; and even the strongest of beings may break under such strain.

And so when the day came, centuries later, that Merlin fell in love once more with a powerful sorceress, a priestess of the revived Old Religion, that she out of compassion and not malice cast such an enchantment upon Emrys that he should sleep for a thousand years and a day, until Albion's need was greatest, and Arthur Pendragon would return to save his people from an evil untold. She lovingly placed the sleeping warlock in an enchanted oak tree, and wove protective enchantments about it so that none would dare attempt to cut it down in the chaos of a world disregarding of Earth and elemental magic.

Tales are still told of strange and wonderful happenings that center around that enchanted tree; good luck tokens taken from it, blessings upon marriages performed under it, healing powers in tonics steeped from its bark and leaves. Children who play in its leaves grow stronger; young men and women find love amid its boughs; the elderly lose their aches and pains under its shade.

And some say, if the light is right, you can see the golden glint of feathers nesting in its branches; and if you are very lucky, you may catch a glimpse of the tiny golden owl who refuses to stray far from the tree he guards so protectively.


End file.
